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nip inst tires patie LRN a. (pane a it Re RC, A —- 
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aetanrtereet, 





THE 


ICE-MAIDEN: 


AND OTHER TALES. 


BY 


HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 


Granslated from the German, 


BY 


FANNY FULLER. 


PHILADELPHIA: F. LEYPOLDT. 
New York: F. W. CuristTern. 


i 8 6 3 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 


F. LEYPOLDT, 


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States in and 
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 








KING & BAIRD, PRINTERS. 





CONTENTS. 
; PAGE 
MEME MATION (c's cca uctn eo seen eaaeanes Ap 7 
PE PSUTEMRELY co 02 cesses ences Vataleiiatwercieren 139 
MUR Y ORY cc. cn cece ccc cnvceeeses Ae ee 149 


Tre Snail AND THE Rose-TREE..... eof 183 





Che Ace- arden. 











LITTLE RUDY. 


Jler us visit Switzerland and look around 
us in the glorious country of mountains, 
where the forest rises out of steep rocky 
walls; let us ascend to the dazzling snow- 
fields, and thence descend to the ereen 
plains, where the rivulets and brooks hasten 
away, foaming up, as if they feared not to 
vanish, as they reached the sea. 

The sun beams upon the deep valley, 
it burns also upon the heavy masses of 
snow; so that after the lapse of years, 
they melt into shining ice-blocks, and be- 
come rolling avalanches and heaped-up 


glaciers. 


(1) 


8 LITTLE RUDY. 





Two of these lie in the broad clefts of 
the rock, under the Schreckhorn and ai te 
terhorn, near the little town of Grind’ 
wald. They are so remarkable that many 
strangers come to gaze at them, in the 
summer time, from all parts of the world; 
they come over the high snow-covered 
mountains, they come from the deepest 
valleys, and they are obliged to ascend 
Curing many hours, and as they ascend, 
the valley sinks deeper and deeper, as 
though seen from an air-balloon. 

Far around the peaks of the mountains, 
the clouds often hang like heavy curtains 
of smoke; whilst down in the valley, where 
the many brown wooden houses lie seat- 
tered about, a sun-beam shines, and here 
and there brings out a tiny spot, in radiant 
ereen, as though it were transparent. The 


water roars, froths and foams below, the 





“a 





LITTLE RUDY. 9 


water hums and tinkles above, and it looks 
as if silver ribbons were fluttering over the 
cliffs. 

On each side of the way, as one ascends, 
are wooden houses; each house has a little 
potato-garden, and that is a necessity, for 
in the door-way are many little mouths; 
there are plenty of children, and they can 
consume abundance of food;.they rush out 
of the houses, and throng about the tra- 
vellers, come they on foot or in carriage. 
The whole horde of children traffic; the little 
ones offer prettily carved wooden houses, 
for sale, similar to those they build on the 
mountains. Rain or shine, the children 
assemble with their wares. 

Some twenty years ago, there stood here, 
several times, a little boy, who wished to sell 
his toys, but he always kept aloof from the 
other children; he stood with serious coun- 


10 LITTLE RUDY. 


tenance and with both hands tightly clasped 
around his wooden box, as if he feared it 
would slip away from him; but on account 
of this gravity, and because the boy was so 
small, it caused him to be remarked, and’ 
often he made the best bargain, without 
knowing why. His grandfather lived still 
higher in the mountains, and it was he who 
carved the pretty wooden houses. There 
stood in his room, an old cup-board, full of 
carvings; there were nut-crackers, knives, 
spoons, and boxes with delicate foliage, and 
leaping chamois; there was everything, 
which could rejoice a merry child’s eye, but 
this little fellow, (he was named Rudy) 
looked at and desired only the old gun 
under the rafters, His grandfather had said, 
that he should have it some day, but that 
he must first grow big and strong enough 


to use it. 











LITTLE RUDY. Il 


Small as the boy was, he was obliged to 
take care of the goats, and if he who can 
climb with them is a good guardian, well 
then indeed was Rudy. Why he climbed 
even higher than they! He loved to take 
the bird’s nests from the trees, high in the 
air, for he was bold and daring; and he 
only smiled when he stood by the roaring 
water-fall, or when he heard a rolling 
avalanche. 

He never played with the other children; 
he only met them, when his grandfather 
sent him out to sell his carvings, and Rudy 
took but little interest in this; he much pre- 

ferred to wander about the rocks, or to sit 
and listen to his grandfather relate about 
old times and about the inhabitants of 
Meiringen, where he came from. He 
said that these people had not been there 
since the beginning of the world; they had 


ee a ee 
St EP ee 
¥ ’ On 


~*~ 


12 LITTLE RUDY. 


come from the far North, where the race 
called Swedes, dwelt. To know this, was 
indeed great wisdom, and Rudy knew this; 

but he became still wiser, through the inter- 
course which he had with the other occu- 

pants of the house—belonging to the ani- 

mal race. There was a large dog, Ajola, an 
heir-loom from Rudy’s father; and a cat, 

and she was of great importance to Rudy, 

for she had taught him to climb. ‘Come 

out on the roof!” said the cat, quite plain 

and distinctly, for when one is a child, and 

can not yet speak, one understands the 

hens and ducks, the cats and dogs remark- 

ably well; they speak for us as intelligibly ~ | 
as father or mother. One needs but to be 

little, and then even grandfather’s stick can ie 
neigh, and become a horse, with head, legs 

and tail. With some children, this know- 

ledge slips away later than with others, and 


a aes ee 


——_—_- 


LITTLE RUDY. : 13 





people say of these, that they are very 
backward, that they remain children fear- 
fully long.—People say so many things! 
“Come with me, little Rudy, out on the 
roof!” was about the first thing that the 
eat said, that Rudy understood. “It is all 
imagination about falling; one does not fall, 
when one does not fear to do so. Come, 
place your one paw so, and your other so! 
Take care of your fore-paws! Look sharp 
with your eyes, and give suppleness to 
your limbs! If there be a hole, jump, hold 
fast, that’s the way I do!” 
And Rudy did so, and that was the rea- 
- son that he sat out on the roof with the 
cat so often; he sat with her in the 
tree-tops, yes, he sat on the edge of 
the rocks, where the cats could not come. 
“Higher, higher !” said the frees and bushes. 


“See, how we climb! how high we go, how 


2 








14 LITTLE RUDY. 


‘firm we hold on, even on the outermost 
peaks of the rocks!” 

And Rudy went generally on the moun- 
tain. before the sun rose, and then he got 
his morning drink, the fresh, strengthening 
mountain air, the drink, that our Lord only 
can prepare, and men can read its recipe, 
and thus it stands written: ‘the fresh scent 
of the herbs of the mountains and the mint 
and thyme of the valleys.” 

All heaviness is imbibed by the hanging 
clouds, and the wind sends it out like grape- 
shot into the fir-woods; the fragrant breeze 
becomes perfume, light and fresh and ever 
fresher—that was Rudy’s morning drink, 

The blessing bringing daughters of the 
Sun, the sun-beams, kissed his cheeks, 
and Vertigo stood and watched, but dared 
not approach him; and the swallows below 


from grandfather's house, where there were ~ 


LITTLE RUDY. 15 


no less than seven nests, flew up to him and 
the goats, and they sang: ‘We and you! 
and you and we!” They brought greet- 
ings from home, even from the two hens, 
the only birds in the room; with whom 
however Rudy never had intercourse. 
Little as he was, he had travelled, and 
not a little, for so small a boy; he was born 
in the Canton Valais, and had been carried 
from there over the mountains. Lately he 
had visited the Staubbach, which waves in 
the air like a silver gauze, before the snow 
decked, dazzling white mountain: “the 
Jungfrau.” And he had been in Grindel- 
wald, near the great glaciers; Lut that was 
asad story. There, his mother nad found 
her death, and, ‘little Rudy,” so said his 
grandfather, ‘had lost his childish merri- 
ment.” ‘When the boy was not a year old, 


he laughed more than he cried,” so wrote 








16 LITTLE RUDY. 


his mother; “ but since he was in the ice- 
gap, quite another mind has come over 
him.” His grand-father did not like to speak 
on the subject, but every one on the moun- 
tain knew all about it. 

Rudy’s father had been a postilion, and 
the large dog in the room, had always 
followed him on his journeys to the lake of 
Geneva, over the Simplon. In the valley 
of the Rhone, in Canton Valais, still lived 
Rudy’s family, on his father’s side, and 
his father’s brother was a famous chamois 
hunter and a well-known guide. Rudy was 
only a year old, when he lost his father, 
and his mother longed to return to her 
relations in Berner Oberlande. Her father 
lived a few hours walk from Grindelwald; 
he was a carver in wood, and earned enough 
by it to live. In the month of June, carry- 
ing her little child, she started homewards, 





LITTLE RUDY. 17 


= 


accompanied by two chamois hunters; in- 
tending to cross the Gemmi on their way 
to Grindelwald. They already had accom- 
plished the longer part of their journey, had 
passed the high ridges, had come to the snow- 
plains, they already saw the valley of their 
home, with its well-known wooden houses, 
and had now but to reach the summit of 
one of the great glaciers. The snow had 
freshly fallen and concealed a cleft,—which 
did not lead to the deepest abyss, where 
the water roared—but still deeper than man 
could reach, The young woman, who was 
holding her child, slipped, sank and was 
gone; one heard no cry, no sigh, nought 
but a little child weeping. More than an 
hour elapsed, before her companions could 
bring poles and ropes, from the nearest 
house, in order to afford assistance. After 


great exertion they drew from the ice-gap, 
ox 


18 LITTLE RUDY. 


what appeared to be two lhfeless bodies; 
every means were employed and they suc- 
ceeded in calling the child back to life, but 
not the mother. So the old grandfather 
received instead of a daughter, a daughter's 
son in his house; the little one, who laughed 
more than he wept, but, who now, seemed 
to have lost this custom. A change in him, 
had certainly taken place, in the cleft of the 
glacier, in the wonderful cold world; where, 
according to the belief of the Swiss peasant, 
the souls of the damned are incarcerated 
until the day of judgment. 

Not unlike water, which after long jour- 
neying, has been compressed into blocks of 
green glass, the glaciers lie here, so that 
one huge mass of ice is heaped on the other. 
The rushing stream roars below and melts 
snow and ice; within, hollow caverns and 


mighty clefts open, this is a wonderful 





LITTLE RUDY. | 19 


“palace of ice, and in it dwells the Ice- 
Maiden, the Queen of the glaciers. She, 
the murderess, the destroyer, is half a 
child of air and half the powerful ruler of 
the streams; therefore, she had received the 
power, to elevate herself with the speed of 
the chamois to the highest pinnacle of the 
snow-topped mountain; where the most 
daring mountaineer had to hew his way, 
in order to take firm foot-hold. She sails 
up the rushing river on a slender fir- 
branch—springs from one cliff to another, 
with her long .snow-white hair, fluttering 
around her, and with her bluish-green 
mantle, which resembles the water of the 
deep Swiss lakes. 

“Crush, hold fast! the power is mine!” 
cried she. “‘They have stolen a lovely boy 
from me, a boy, whom I had kissed, but 
not kissed to death. He is again with men, 





20 LITTLE RUDY. 


he tends the goats on the mountains; he 
climbs up, up high, beyond the reach of all 
others, but not beyond mine! He is mine, 
I shall have him!”— 

And she ordered Vertigo to fulfil her 
duty; it was too warm for the Ice-Maiden, 
in summer-time, in the green spots where 
the mint thrives. Vertigo arose; one came, 
three came, (for Vertigo had many sisters, 
very many of them) and the Maiden chose 
the strongest among those that rule within 
doors and without. They sit on the balus- 
ters and on the spires of the steep towers, 
they tread through the air as the swimmer 
glides through the water and entice their — 
prey down the abyss. Vertigo and the Ice. 
Maiden seize on men as the polypus clutches 
at all within its reach. Vertigo was to 
gain possession of Rudy. ‘Yes, just catch 
him for me” said Vertigo, “I cannot do 








LITTLE RUDY. 21 


it! The cat, the dirty thing, has taught 
him her arts! The child of the race of 
man, possesses a power, that repulses me; 
J cannot get at the little boy, when he 
hangs by the branches over the abyss. 
I may tickle him on the soles of his feet 
or give him a box on the ear whilst he is 
swinging in the air, it is of no avail. I 
can do nothing!” 

“We can do it!” said the Ice-Maiden. 
“You or I! I! IP?— 

‘No, no!” sounded back the echo of the 
church-bells through the mountain, like a 
sweet melody; it was like speech, an har- 
monious chorus of all the spirits of nature, 
mild, good, full of love, for it came from 
the daughters of the sun-beams, who en- 
camped themselves every evening in a 
circle around the pinnacles of the moun- 


tains, and spread out their rose-coloured 


22 LITTLE RUDY. 


wings, that grow more and more red as 
the sun sinks, and glow over the high 
Alps; men call it, “the Alpine glow.’ 
When the sun is down, they enter the 
peaks of the rocks and sleep on the white 
snow, until the sun rises, and then they 
sally forth. Above all, they love flowers, 
butterflies, and men, and amongst them 


they had chosen little Rudy as their 


favourite. 


“You will not catch him! You shall — 


not have him?” said they. “I have caught 


and kept stronger and larger ones!” said 
the Ice-Maiden. 

Then the daughters of the Sun sang a 
lay of the wanderer, whose cloak the whirl- 
wind had torn off and carried away. The 
wind took the covering, but not the man. 
“Ye children of strength can seize, but 


not hold him; he is stronger, he is more 








LITTLE RUDY. ; 23 


spirit-like, than we; he ascends higher 
than the Sun, our mother! He possesses 
the magic word, that restrains wind and 
water, so that they are obliged to obey and 
serve him!” 

So ‘sounded cheerfully the  bell-lke 
chorus, 

And every morning the sun-beams shone 
through the tiny window in the grand. 
father’s house, on the quiet child. The 
daughters of the sun-beams kissed him, 
they wished to thaw him, to warm him 
and to carry away with them the icy kiss, 
which the queenly maiden of the glaciers 
had given him, as he lay on his dead 
mother’s lap, in the deep icy gap, whence 


he was saved through a miracle. 





24 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME, 


II. 


THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 


Rupy was now eight years old. Tis 
father’s brother, in Rhonethal, the other 
side of the mountain, wished to have the 
boy, for he thought that with him he would 
fare and prosper better; his grandfather 
perceived this and gave his consent. 

Rudy must go. There were others to 
take leave of him, besides his grandfather ; 
first there was Ajola, the old dog. 

“Your father was post-boy and I was 
post-dog,” said Ajola. ‘ We have travelled 
up and down; I know dogs and men on 
the other side of the mountain. It is not 
my custom to speak much, but now, that 
we shall not have much time to convers¢ 








THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 25 


with each other, I must talk a little more 
than usual. I will relate a story to you; 
I shall tell you how I have earned my 
bread, and how I have eaten it. I do not 
understand it and I suppose that you will 
not either, but it matters not, for I have 
discovered that the good. things of this 
earth are not equally divided between 
dogs or men. All are not fitted to he on 
the lap and sip milk, I have not been ac- 
customed to it; but I saw a httle dog seated 
in the coach with us and it occupied a 
person’s place. The woman who was its 
mistress, or who belonged to its mistress, 
had a bottle filled with milk, out of which 
she fed it; it got sweet sugar biscuits too, 
but it would not even eat them; only 
snuffed at them, and so the woman ate them 
herself. J ran in the mud, by the side of 


the coach, as hungry as a dog could be; 
3 


Be 
ie: 





26 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME, 


I chewed my crude thoughts, that was aot | 
right—but this is often done! If I could 
but have been carried on some one’s knee 
and have been seated ina coach! But one 
cannot have all one desires. I have not 
been able to do so, neither with barking 
nor with yawning.” 

That was Ajola’s speech, and Rudy seized 
him by the neck and kissed him on his 
moist mouth, and then he took the cat in 
his arms, but she was angry at it. 

“You are getting too strong for me, and 

I will not use my claws against you! Just 
climb over the mountains, I taught you to 
climb! Never think that you will fall, then 
you are secure!” | 

Then the cat ran away, without letting 
Rudy see how her grief shone out of her 
eye. . 

The hens ran about the floor; one had 


—a op? el 4 -— ‘ rs 
 <! ; % 
> ee 


. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 27 


lost her tail; a traveller, who wished to be 
a hunter, had shot it off, because the crea- 
ture had taken the hen for a bird of prey! 
“Rudy is going over the mountain!” 
said one hen. ‘ He is always in a hurry,” 
said the other, “and I do not care for 


}) 


leave-takings!” and so they both tripped 
away. 

And the goats, too, said farewell and 
cried: ‘“ Mit, mit, mah!” and that was so 
sad. 

There were two nimble guides in the 
neighbourhood, and they were about to cross 
the mountains; they were to descend to 
the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy 
followed them on foot. This was a severe 
march for such a little chap, but he had 
streneth and courage, and felt not fatigue. 

The swallows accompanied them a part 


of the way. They sang: “ We and you! 





a ee 


28 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME, 


You and we!” The road went over the 
rapid Liitschine, which rushes forth from 
the black clefts of the glacier of Grindel- 
wald, in many little streams. The fallen 
timber and the quarry-stones serve as 
bridges; they pass the alder-bush and 
descend the mountain where the glacier 
bas detached itself from the mountain side; 
they cross over the glacier, over the 
blocks of ice, and go around them. Rudy 
was obliged to creep a little, to walk 
a little, his eyes sparkled with delight, 
and he trod as firmly with his iron-shod 
mountain shoes, as though he wished to 
eave his foot-prints where he had stepped. 
The black mud which the mountain stream 
had poured upon the glacier gave it a 
calcined appearance, but the bluish-green, 
glassy ice still shone through it. They 
were obliged to go around the little ponds 





THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 29 


—_- 


which were dammed up by blocks of 
ice; during these wanderings they came 
too near a large stone, which lay totter- 
ing on the brink of a crevice in the ice. 
The stone lost its equilibrium, it fell, 
rolled and the echo resounded from the 
deep hollow paths of the glacier. 

Up, ever up; the glacier stretched itself 
on high—as a river, of wildly heaped up 
masses of ice, compressed among the steep 
cliffs, For an instant Rudy thought on 
what they had told him, about his having 


laid with his mother, in one of these . Re 


cold-breathing chasms. Such thoughts 


soon vanished; it seemed to him as though © 


it were some other story—one of the many 
which had been related to him. Now and 
then, when the men thought that the ascent 
was too difficult for the little lad, they 


would reach him their hand, but he was 
3* 


2 
Re 





30 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME, 


” 


never weary and stood on the slippery ice 
as firm as a chamois. Now they reached 
the bottom of the rocks, they were soon 
among the bare stones, which were void 
of moss; soon under tlie low fir-trees and 
again out on the green common—ever 


o, ever new. Around them arose 


changing, 


the snow mountains, whose names were as 
familiar to Rudy as they were to every 
child in the neighbourhood: “the Jung- 
frau,” ‘the Ménch,” and “the Higer.” 

Rudy had never been so high before, 
had never before trodden on the vast sea 
of snow, which lay there with its immove- 
able waves. The wind blew single flakes 
about, as it blows the foam upon the waters 
of the sea. 

Glacier stood by glacier, if one may say 
so, hand in hand; each one was an ice- 
palace for the Ice-Maiden, whose power and 








THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 31 





will is: “to catch and to bury.” The sun 
burned warmly, the snow was dazzling, 
as if sown with bluish-white, glittering 
diamond sparks. Countless insects (butter- 
flies and bees mostly) lay in masses dead 
on the snow; they had ventured too high, 
or the wind had borne them thither, but to 
breathe their last in these cold regions. A 
threatening cloud hung over the Wetter- 
horn, like a fine, black tuft of wool. It 
lowered itself slowly, heavily, with that 
which lay concealed within it, and this was 
the “Fohn,’* powerful in its streneth when 
it broke loose. The impression of the entire 
journey, the night quarters above and then 
the road beyond, the deep rocky chasms, 
where the water forced its way through the 
blocks of stone with terrible rapidity, 


engraved itself indelibly on Rudy’s mind. 


* A humid south wind on the lakes of Switzerland, a fearful storm. 





32 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME, 


On the other side of the sea of snow, a 
forsaken stone hut gave them protection 
and shelter for the night; a fire was quickly 
lighted, for they found within it charcoal 
and fir branches; they arranged their couch 
as well as possible. The men seated them- 
selves around the fire, smoked their tobacco 
and drank the warm spicy drink, which 
they had prepared for themselves. Rudy 
had _ his share too and they told him of the 
mysterious beings of the Alpine country ; 


of the singular fighting snakes in the deep - 


lakes; of the people of night ; of the hordes 
of spectres, who carry sleepers through the 
air, towards the wonderful floating city 
of Venice; of the wild shepherd, who 
drives his black sheep over the meadow ; 
it is true, they had never been seen, but 
the sound of the bells and the unhappy 
bellowing of the flock, had been heard. 





THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 33 


Rudy listened eagerly, but without any 
fear, for he did not even know what that 
was, and whilst he listened he thought he 
heard the ghost-like hollow bellowing! 
Yes, it became more and more distinct, 
the men heard it also, they stopped talking, 
listened and told Rudy he must not sleep. 

It was the Fohn which blew, the power- 
ful storm-wind, which rushes down the 
mountains into the valley and with its 
strength bends the trees, as if they were 
mere reeds, and lifts the wooden houses 
from one side of the river to the other, 
as if the move had been made on a chess- 
board. 
After the lapse of an hour, they told 
Rudy that the storm had now blown over 
and that he might rest; with this license, 
fatigued by his march, he at once fell asleep. 


They departed early in the morning; 


34 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 


the sun showed Rudy new mountains, 
new glaciers and snow-fields; they had 
“now reached Canton Valais and the other 
side of the mountain ridge which was 
visible at Grmdelwald, but they were still 
far from the new home. Other chasms, 
precipices, pasture-grounds; forests and 
paths through the woods, unfolded them- 
selves to the view; other houses, other 
human beings—but what human beings! 
Deformed creatures, with unmeaning, fat, 
yellowish-white faces; with a large, ugly, 
fleshy lump on their necks; these were 
cretins who dragged themselves miserably 
along and gazed with their stupid eyes 
on the strangers who arrived among them. 
As for the women, the greatest number 
of them were frightful ! 

Were these the inhabitants of the new 


home ? 





THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 35 


III. 


THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 


Guz people in the uncle’s house, looked, 
thank heaven, like those whom Rudy was 
accustomed to see. But one cretin was 
there, a poor silly lad, one of the many 
miserable creatures, who on account of 
their poverty and need, always make their 
home among the families of Canton Valais 
and remain with each but a couple of 
months. The wretched Saperh happened 
to be there when Rudy arrived. 

Rudy’s father’s brother was still a vigorous 
hunter and was also a cooper by trade; his 
wife, a lively little person, had what is 
called a bird’s face; her eyes resembled 


a = 


36 THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 





those of an eagle and she had a long neck 
entirely covered with down. 

| iiverything was new to Rudy, the dress, 
manners and customs, yes, even the lan- 


guage, but that is soon acquired and under- 


stood by achild’s ear. Here, they seemed © 


to be better off, than in his grandfather's 
house ; the dwelling rooms were larger, the 
walls looked gay with their chamois horns 
and highly polished rifles; over the door. 
way hung the picture of the blessed 
Virgin; alpine roses and a burning lamp 
stood before it. 

His uncle, was as we have said before, 
one of the most famous chamois hunters in 
the neighbourhood and also the most ex- 
perienced and best guide. | 

Rudy was to be the pet of the household, 
although there already was one, an old 


leaf and blind dog, whom they could no. 


a 





THE FATHER’S BROTHER. oo 


longer use; but they remembered his many 
past services and he was looked upon as a 
member of the family and was to pass his 
old days in peace. Rudy patted the dog, 
but he would have nothing to do with 
strangers; Rudy did not long remain one, 
for he soon took firm hold both in -house 
and heart. 

“One is not badly off in Canton Valais,” 
said his uncle, “ we have the chamois, they 
do not die out so soon as the mountain. 
goat! It is a great deal better here now, 
than in the old times; they may talk about 
their glory as much as they please. . The 
present time is much better, for a hole has 
been made in the purse and light and air 
let into our quiet valley. When old worn- 
out customs die away, something new 
springs forth!” said he. When uncle 
became talkative, he tole of the years of his 


THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 


Wo 
oe) 








childhood and of his father’s active time, 
when Valais was still a closed purse, as the 
people called it, and when it was filled with 


sick people and miserable cretins. Hrench 


soldiers came, they were the right kind of 
doctors, they not only shot down the sick- 
ness but the men also, 

‘““The Frenchmen can beat the stones 
until they surrender! they cut the Sim- 
plon-road out of the rocks—they have 
hewn out such a road, that I now can tell 
a three year old child to go to Italy! Keep 
to the highway, and a child may find his 
way there!” Then the uncle would sing 
a French song and cry hurrah for Napoleon 
Bonaparte. 

Rudy now heard for the first time of 
France, of Lyons—the large city of the 
Rhone—for his uncle had been there. — 


“T wonder if Rudy will become an agile 


ee a nee 





THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 39 
re 

chamois hunter in a few years? He has 
every disposition for it!” said his uncle, 
and instructed him how to hold a rifle, how 
to aim and to fire. In the hunting season, 
he took him with him in the mountains and 
made him drink the warm chamois blood, 
which prevents the hunter from becoming 
dizzy. He taught him to heed the time 
when the avalanches roll down the different 
sides of the mountain—at mid-day or at 
night-fall—which depended upon the heat 
of the rays of the sun. He taught him to 
notice the chamois, in order to learn from 
them how to jump, so as to alight steadily 
upon the feet. If there was no resting 
place in the clefts of the rock for the foot, 
he must know how to support himself with 
the elbow, and be able to climb by means 
of the muscles of the thigh and calf, even 


the neck must serve when it is necessary. 


40 THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 


The chamois are cunning, they place out- 
guards—but the hunter must be still more 
cunning and follow the ‘trail—and he can 
deceive them by hanging his coat and hat 
on his alpine stick, and so make the chamois 
take the coat for the man. 

One day when Rudy was out with his 
uncle hunting, he tried this sport. 

The rocky path was not wide; indeed 
there was scarcely any, only a narrow 
ledge, close to the dizzy abyss. The snow 
was half-thawed, the stones crumbled when 
trodden upon, and his uncle stretched him- 
self out full length and crept along. Each 
stone as it broke away, fell, knocked itself, 
bounded and then rolled down; it made 
many leaps from one rocky wall to another 
until it found repose in the black deep. 
Rudy stood about a hundred steps behind 
his uncle on the outermost cliff, and. saw a 








THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 41 


huge golden vulture, hovering over his 
uncle, and sailing towards him through the - 
air, as though wishing to cast the creeping 
worm into the abyss with one blow of his 
wing, and to make carrion of him. His 
uncle had only eyes for the chamois and its 
young kid, on the other side of the cleft. 
Rudy looked at the bird, understood what 
it wanted, and laid his hand on his rifle in 
order to shoot it. At that moment the cha- 
mois leaped—his uncle fired—the ball hit the 
animal, but the kid was gone, as though 
flight and danger had been its life’s expe- 
rience. The monstrous bird terrified by the 
report of the gun, took flight in another 
direction, and Rudy’s uncle knew nought 
of his danger, until Rudy told him of it. 
As they now were on their way home in 
the gayest spirits—his uncle playing one of 


his youthful melodies on his flute—they 
4* 


42 THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 


suddenly heard not far from them a singular 
‘sound; they looked sideways, they gazed 
aloof and saw high above them the snow 
covering of the rugged shelf of the rock, 
waving lke an outspread piece of linen 
when agitated by the wind. The icy waves 
cracked like slabs of marble, they broke, 
dissolved in foaming, rushing water and 
sounded lke a muffled thunder-clap. It | 
was an avalanche rolling down, not over 
Rudy and his uncle, but near, only too near 
to them. 

“Hold fast, Rudy,” cried he, ‘firm, with — 
your whole strength |” 

And Rudy clasped the trunk of a tree; 
his uncle climbed into its branches and 
held fast, whilst the avalanche rolled many | 
fathoms away from them. But the air- 
drift of the blustering storm, which aecom- 
panied it, bowed down the trees and: bushes 











THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 43 


around them like dry reéds and threw them 
beyond. Rudy lay cast on the earth; the 
trunk of the tree on which he had held was 
as though sawed off, and its crown was 
hurled still farther along. His uncle lay 
amongst the broken branches, with his head 
shattered; his hands were yet warm, but 
his face was no longer to be recognized. 
Rudy stood pale and trembling; this was 
the first terror of his life, the first hour 
of fear that he had ever known, 

Late in the evening, he returned with his 
message of death to his home, which was 
now one of sorrow. 

The wife stood without words, without 
tears, and not until the corpse was brought 
home did her sorrow find an outburst. 
The poor cretin crept to his bed and was not 
seen all day, but towards evening he came 


to Rudy, and said: “ Write a letter for me. 


| 
" 
5" 





SSS ee ee oe eee ee ee 


44 THE FATHER’S BROTHER. 


Saperli cannot write! Saperli cau take 

the letter to the post office.” 
“A letter for you,” asked Rudy, “and 

to whom?” : 

“To our Lord Christ!” 

“What do you mean?” 

And the half-witted creature gave a 
touching glance at Rudy, folded his hands 
and said piously and solemnly: “Jesus 
Christ! Saperli wishes to send him a letter, 
praying him to let Saperli lie dead and not 
the man of this house! 

And Rudy pressed his hand, “the letter , 
cannot be sent, the letter will not give 
him back to us!” 

It was difficult for Rudy to explain the 
impossibility to him. 

‘Now you are the stay of the house!” 
said his foster-mother, and Rudy became it. 











a ea a 
BABETTE. 45 





IV. 


BABETTE. 


Wo is the best shot in Canton Valais? 
The chamois knew only too well: ‘“‘ Beware 
of Rudy!” they could say. Who is the 
handsomest hunter ?—“ It is Rudy.” The 
young girls said this also, but they did not 
say: ‘Beware of Rudy!” No, not even 
the grave mothers, for he nodded to them 
quite as amicably as to the young girls. 
He was so bold and gay, his cheeks were 
brown, his teéth fresh and white and his 
coal-black eyes glittered; he was a hand- 
some young fellow and but twenty years 
old. The icy water did not sting him when 


he swam, he could turn around in it like a 





A6 BABETTE. 





res 


fish ; he could climb as did no one, and he 
was as firm on the rocky walls as a snail— 
for he had good sinews and muscles that 
served him well in leaping—the cat had first 
taught him this, and later the chamois. 
One could not trust one’s self to a better 
guide than to Rudy. In this way he could 
collect quite a fortune, but he had -no taste 


for the trade of a cooper, which his uncle 


had taught him; his delight and pleasure _ 1 


was to shoot chamois, and this was profit- 


able also. Rudy was a good match, if one 
_ did not look higher than one’s station, and 
in dancing he was just the kind of dancer 


that young girls dream about, and one 
or the other were always thinking of him 
when they were awake. 

‘Ho kissed me whilst dancing!” said 
the schoolmaster’s Annette to her most 
intimate friend, but she should not have 








BABETTE. 47 


said this, not even to her dearest friend, but 
it is difficult to keep such things to one’s 
self—like sand in a purse with a hole in it, 
it soon runs out—and although Rudy was 
so steady and good it was soon known that 
he kissed whilst dancing. 

“Watch him,” said an old hunter, “he 
has commenced with A, and he will kiss 
the whole alphabet through !” 

A kiss, at a dance, was all they could say 
in their gossipping, but he had kissed 
Annette, and she was by no means the 
flower of his heart. 

Down near Bex, between the great walnut 
trees, close by a rapid little stream, dwelt 
the rich miller. The dwelling-house was a 
large three-storied building, with little 
towers covered with wood and coated with 
sheets of lead, which shone in the sunshine 
and in the moonshine; the largest tower 





48 BABETTE. 


had for a weather-cock a bright arrow 
which.pierced an apple and which was in- 
‘tended to represent the apple shot by Tell. 
The mill looked neat and comfortable, 
so that it was really worth describing and 
drawing, but the miller’s daughter could 
neither be deseribed nor drawn, at least so 
said Rudy. Yet she was imprinted in his 
heart, and her eyes acted as a fire-brand 
upon it, and this had happened suddenly 
and unexpectedly. The most wonderfui 
part of all was, that the miller’s daughter, ° 
the pretty Babette, thought not of him, for 
she and Rudy had never even spoken myo 
words with each other. a 
The miller was rich, and riches siseea 
her much too high to be approached; “but 
no one,” said Rudy to himself, “is placed 
so high as to be unapproachable; one must 
climb and one does not fall, when one does 


ey 


BABETTE. 49 


not think of it.” This knowledge he had 
brought from home with him. oon 

Now it so happened that Rudy had busi- 
ness at Bex and it was quite a journey 
there, for the railroad was not completed. 
The broad valley of Valais stretches itself 
from the glaciers of the Rhone, under the 
foot of the Simplon-mountain, between 
many varying mountain-heights, with its 
mighty river, the Rhone, which often swells 
and destroys everything, overflooding fields 
and roads. The valley makes a bend, 
between the towns of Sion and St. Maurice, 
like an elbow and becomes’so narrow at 
Maurice, that there only remains sufficient 
room for the river bed and a cart way. 
Here an old tower stands like a sentry 
before the Canton Valais; it énds at this 
point and overlooks the bridge, which has 


a wall towards the custom-house. Now 


5 


5O BABETTE. 


begins the Canton called Pays de Vaud and 
the nearest town is Bex, where everything 
becomes luxuriant and fruitful—one is in a 
garden of walnut and chestnut trees and here 
and there, cypress and pomegranate blossoms 
peep out—it is as warmas the South; one 
imagines one’s self transplanted into Italy. 
Rudy reached Bex, accomplished his 
business and looked about him, but he did 
not see a single miller’s boy, not to speak 
of Babette. It appeared as though they 
were not to meet. 
It was evening, the air was heavy with 
the wild thyme and blooming linden, 
a glistening veil lay over the forest-clad 
mountains, there was a stillness over every- 
thing, but not the quiet of sleep. It seemed 
as though all nature retained her breath, as 
if she felt disposed to allow her image to 
be imprinted upon the firmament. 








BABETTE. 51 


Here and there, there were poles standing 
on the green fields, between the trees; they 
held the telegraph wire, which has been 
conducted through this peaceful valley. 
An object leant against one of these poles, 
so inmoveable, that one might have taken it 
for a withered trunk of a tree; but it was 
Rudy. He slept not and still less was he 
dead; but as the most important events of 
this earth, as well as affairs of vital moment 
for individuals pass over the wires, without 
their giving out a tone or a tremulous 
movement, even so flashed through Rudy, 
thoughts—powerful, overwhelming, speak- 
ing of the happiness of his life; his, 
henceforth, “constant thought.’ His eyes 
were fixed upon a point in the trellis-work, 
and this was a light in Babette’s sitting 
room. tudy was so motionless, one miglit 
have thought that he was observing a 


# 


oa his re. | 
- 


52 BABETTE. 


chamois, in order to shoot it. Now, how- 
ever, he was like the chamois—which appears 
sculptured on the rock, and suddenly if 
-a stone rolls, springs and flies away— 
thus stood Rudy, until a thought struck 
him. 

“Never despair,” said he. “I shall 
make a visit to the mill, and say: Good 
evening miller, good evening Babette ! 
One does not fall when one does not think 
of it! Babette must see me, if I am to be 
her husband!” 

And Rudy laughed, was of good cheer 
and went to the mill; he knew what he 
wanted, he wanted Babette. 

The river, with its yellowish white water 
rolled on; the willow trees and the lindens 
bowed themselves deep in the hastening 
water; Rudy went along the path, and as it 
says.in the old child’s song: 


BABETTE. 53 


— — — Zu des Miillers Haus, 
Aber da war Niemand drinnen 
Nur die Katze schaute aus!* 


The house-cat stood on the step, put up 
her back and said: “Miau!” but Rudy 
had no thoughts for her language, he 
knocked, no one heard, no one opened. 
“Miau!” said the cat. If Rudy had been 
little, he would have understood the speech 
of animals and known that the cat told 
him: “There is no one at home!” He was 
obliged to cross over to the mill, to make 
inquiries, and here he had news. The 
master of the house was away on a journey, 
far away in the town of Interlaken—inter 
lacus, ‘‘ between the lakes”—as the school- 
master, Annette’s father, had explained, in 
his wisdom. Far away was the miller and 
Babette with him; there was to be a shoot- 





* The cat looked out from the miller’s house, 
No one was in, not even 2 mouse! 


a 


5* 


54 BABETTE. 


ing festival, which was to commence on 
the following day and to continue for a — 
whole week. The Swiss from all the Ger- 
man cantons were to meet there. 

Poor Rudy, one could well say that he 
had not taken the happiest time to visit 
Bex; now he could return and that was 
what he did. He took the road over Sion 
and St. Maurice, back to his own valley, 
back to his own mountain, but he was not 
down-cast. On the following morning, 
when the sun rose, his good humour had 
returned, in fact it had never left him. | 

“ Babette is in Interlaken, many a day’s 
journey from here!” said he to himself, 
“it is a long road thither, if one goes by 
the highway, but not so far if one passes 
over the rocks and that is the road fora 
chamois hunter! I went this road formerly, 


for there is my home, where I lived with 








BABETTE. 55 


my grandfather when I was a little child, 
and they have a shooting festival in Inter- 
laken! I will be the first one there, and 
that will I be with Babette also, as soon 
as I have made her acquaintance |” 

With his ight knapsack containing his 
Sunday clothes, with his gun and his hunts- 
man’s pouch, Rudy ascended the mountain. 
The short road, was a pretty long one, but 
the shooting-match had but commenced to- 
day and was to last more than a week; the 
miller and Babette were to remain the 
whole time, with their relations in Inter- 
laken. Rudy crossed the Gemmi, for he 
wished to go to Grindelwald. 

He stepped forwards merry and well, out 
into the fresh, light mountain air. The 
valley sank beneath him, the horizon 
widened; here and there a snow-peak, and 


soon appeared the whole shining white 


ee ee a ee 


56 BABETTE. 


alpine chain. Rudy knew every snow 
mountain, onward he strode towards the 
Schreckhorn, that elevates its white pow- 
dered snow-finger high in the air. | 

At last he crossed the ridge of the 
mountain and the pasture-grounds and 
reached the valley of his home; the air 
was light and his spirits gay, mountain and 
valley stood resplendent with verdure and 
flowers. His heart was filled with youthful 
thoughts ;—that one can never grow old, 
never die; but live, rule and enjoy ;—free 
as a bird, light as a bird was he. The 
swallows flew by and sang as in his child- 
hood: ‘We and you, and You and we!” 
All was happiness. 

Below lay the velvet-green meadow, with 
its brown wooden houses, the Liitschine 
hummed and roared. He saw the glacier 


with its green glass edges and its black 





BABETTE. ay 


crevices in the deep snow, and the under 
and upper glacier. The sound of the 
church-bells was carried over to him, as if 
they chimed a welcome home; his’ heart 
beat loudly and expanded, so, that for a 
moment, Babette vanished from it; his 
heart widened, it was so full of recol- 
lections. He retraced his steps, over the 
path, where he used to stand when a little 
boy, with the other children, on the edge 
of the ditch, and where he sold carved 
wooden houses. Yonder, under the fir- 
trees was his grandfather’s house,—stran- 
gers dwelled there. Children came running 
up the path, wishing to sell; one of them 
held an alpine rose towards him. Rudy 
took it for a good omen and thought of 
Babette. Quickly he crossed the bridge, 
where the two Liitschines meet; the leafy 


trees had increased and the walnut trees 


2a. | 


53 BABETTE. 


gave deeper shade. He saw the streaming 
Swiss and Danish flags—the white cross on 
the red cloth—and Interlaken lay before 
him. : 

Tt was certainly a magnificent town; like 
no other, it seemed to Rudy. A Swiss 
town in its Sunday dress, was not lke other 
trading-places, a mass of black stone 
houses, heavy, uninviting and stiff. No! 
it looked as though the wooden houses, on 
the mountain had run down into the green 
valley, to the clear, swift river and had 


ranged themselves in a row—a little in and 


out—so as to form a street, the most. 


splendid of all streets, which had grown up 
since Rudy was here as a child. It 
appeared to him, that here all the pretty 
wooden houses that his grandfather had 
carved, and with which the cup-board at 
home used to be filled, had placed themselves 





— 


BABETTE. 59 


there and had grown in strength, as the old, 
the oldest chestnut trees had done. Each 
house had carved wood-work around the win- 
dows and balconies, projecting roofs, pretty 
and neat; in front of every house a little 
flower garden extended into the stones 
covered street. The houses were all placed 
on one side, as if they wished to conceal the 
forest green meadow, where the cows with 
their tinkling bells made one fancy one’s 
self near the high alpine pasture-grounds. 
The meadow was enclosed with high moun- 
tains, that leaned to one side so that the 
Jungfrau, the most stately of the Swiss 
mountains, with its glistening snow-clad 
top, was visible. 

What a quantity of well dressed ladies 
and gentlemen from foreign countries! 
What multitudes of inhabitants from the 
different cantons! The shooters, with their 


DN Sea ae 


60 BABETTE. 


numbers placed in a wreath around their 
hats, waiting to take their turn. Here was 
music and song, hurdy-gurdys and wind 
instruments, cries and confusion. The 
houses and bridges were decked with 
devices and verses; banners and flags 
floated, rifles sounded shot after shot; this 
was the best music to Rudy's ear and he 
entirely forgot Babette, although he had 
come for her sake. 

The marksmen thronged towards the spot 
where the target-shooting was; Rudy was 
soon among them and he was the best, the 
luckiest, for he always hit the mark. 


“Who can the strange hunter be?” 


they asked, ‘He speaks the French lan- 
guage as though he came from Canton 
Valais!” ‘He speaks our German very 
distinctly !” said others. “ He is said to 
have lived in the neighbourhood of Grin- 


* 


» 


= ' ie Sa 


es: 





¢ 


BABETTE. 61 


delwald, when a child!” said one of 
them. 

There was life in the youth; his eyes 
sparkled, his aim was true. Good luck 
gives courage, and Rudy had courage at 
all times; he soon had a large circle of 
friends around him, they praised him, they 
did homage to him, and Babette had almost 
entirely left his thoughts. At that moment 
a heavy hand struck him on the shoulder, 
and a gruff voice addressed him in the 
French tongue: 

“You are from Canton Valais?” 

Rudy turned around. A stout person, 
with a red, contented countenance, stood by 
him and that was the rich miller of Bex. 
He covered with his wide body, the slight 
pretty Babette, who however, soon peeped 
out with her beaming dark eyes. The rich 


peasant became consequential because the 


“tn ‘ & re hAY™ Bry Pee 


62 BABETTE, 


hunter from his canton had made the best 
shot and was the honoured one. Rudy was 
certainly a favourite of fortune, that, for 
which he had journeyed thither and almost 
forgotten had sought him. 

When one meets a countryman far from 
one’s home, why then one knows one 
another, and speaks together. Rudy was 
the first at the shooting festival and the 
miller was the first at Bex, through his 


‘money and mill, and so the two men pressed 


each other’s hands: this they had never done 
before. Babette also, gave Rudy her little 
hand and he pressed_her’s in return and 
looked at her, so—that she became quite red. 

The miller told of the long journey which 
they had made here, of the many large 
towns which they had seen—that was a 
real journey ; they had come in the steam- 
boat and had been driven by post and rail! 





BABETTE. 63 


“T came by the short road,” said 
Rudy, “I came over the mountains; 
there is no path so high, that one can 
not reach it!” 

“But one can break one’s neck,” said 
the miller, “you look as though you 
would do so some day, you are so daring!” 

“One does not fall, when one does not 
think of it!” said Rudy. 

And the miller’s family in Interlaken, 
with whom the miller and Babette were 
staying, begged Rudy to pay them a visit, 
for he was from the same canton as their 
relations. 

These were glad tidings for Rudy, for- 
tune smiled upon him, as it always does 
on those that rely upon themselves and 
think upon the saying: “Our Lord gives 
us nuts, but he does not crack them for 


us!” Rudy made himself quite at home 


64. BABETTE. 


with the miller’s relations; they drank the 
health of the best marksman. Babette 
knocked her glass against his and Rudy 
gave thanks for the honour shown him. 

In the evening, they all walked under 
the walnut trees, in front of the decorated 
hotels; there was such a crowd, such a 
throng, that Rudy was obliged to offer 
his arm to Babette. “He was so rejoiced 
to have met people from Pays de Vaud, 
said he, “Pays de Vaud and Valais were 


good neighbourly cantons.” His joy was so. 


profound that it struck Babette, she must 
press his hand. They walked along almost 
like old acquaintances; she was so amus- 
ing, the darling little creature, it became 
her so prettily Rudy thought, when she 
described what was laughable and over- 
‘done in the dress of the ladies, and ridi- 
culed their manners and wall. She did 


Dia aL, © 





BABETTE. 65 


not do this in order to mock them, for no 
doubt they were very good people, yes! 
kind and amiable. Babette knew what 
was right, for she had a god-mother that 
was a distinguished English lady. She 
was in Bex, eighteen years ago, when 
Babette was baptized; she had given 
Babette, the expensive breastpin which she 
wore. The god-mother had written her 
two letters; this year she was to meet her 
in Interlaken, with her daughters; they 
were old maids, over thirty years old, said 
Babette ;—she was just eighteen. 

The sweet little mouth was not still a 
minute; everything that Babette said, 
sounded to Rudy of great importance. 
Then he related how often he had been 
in Bex, how well he knew the mill; how 
often he had seen Babette, but she of 


course had never remarked him; he told 
Ge ; 


66 BABETTE. 


how, when he reached the mill, with many 
thoughts to which he could give no utter- 
ance, she and her father were far away;, 
still not so far as to render it impossible for 
him to ascend the rocky wall which made 
the road so long. 

Yes, he said this; and he also said how 
much he thought of her; that it was for 
her sake and not on account of the shoot- 
ing festival that he had come. 

Babette remained very still, for what he 
confided to her was almost too much 
joy. 

The sun set behind the rocky wall, 
whilst they were walking, and there stood 
the Jungfrau in all her radiant splendour, 
surrounded by the dark green circle of the 
adjacent mountains. The vast crowd of 
people stopped to look at it, Rudy and 
Babette also gazed upon its grandeur. 








BABETTE. 67 


“It is nowhere more beautiful than 
here!” said Babette. | 

“Nowhere!” said Rudy, and looked at 
Babette. 

“T must leave to-morrow!’ said he, a 
little later. 
_ “Visit us in Bex,” whispered Babette, 
“ait will delight my father!” 


68 HOMEWARDS. 


Ve 
HOMEWARDS. 


“Au! how much Rudy carried with him, 
as he went home the next morning over the 
mountains. Yes, there were three silver 
goblets, two very fine rifles and a silver 
coffee pot, which one could use if one 
wished to go to house-keeping; but he 
carried with him something far, far more 
important, far mightier, or rather that car- 
ried him over the high mountains. 

The weather was raw, moist and cold, 
grey and heavy; the clouds lowered over 
the mountain-tops like mourning veils, and 
enveloped the shining peaks of the rocks. 
The sound of the axe resounded from the 
depths of the forest, and the trunks of the 
trees rolled down the mountain, looking in 


HOMEWARDS, 69 


the distance like slight sticks, but’ on ap- 


-proaching them they were heavy trees, 


suitable for making masts. The Liitschine 
rushed on with its monotonous sound, the 
wind blustered, the clouds sailed by. 
Suddenly a young girl approached Rudy, 
whom he had not noticed before; not until 
she was beside him; she also was about 
erossing the mountain. Her eyes had so 
peculiar a power that one was forced to 
look into them; they were so strangely 
clear—clear as glass, so deep, so fathomless— 
“Have you a beloved one?” asked 


Rudy; for to have a beloved one was 


everything to him. 


“T have none!” said she, and laughed ; 
but it was as though she was not speaking 
the truth. ‘Do not let us take a by-way,” 
continued she, “we must go more to the 


left, that way is shorter !” 


70 HOMEWARDS. 


“Yes, so as to fall down a precipice pe 
said Rudy; “Do you know no better way, 
and yet wish to be a guide?” 

“T know the road well,” said she, “my 
thoughts are with me; yours are beneath in 
the valley; here on high, one must think 
on the Ice-Maiden, for they say she is not 
well disposed to mankind!” 

“JT do not fear her,” said Rudy, “she 
was forced to let me go when I was a child, 
so I suppose I can slip away from her now 
that I am older!” 

The darkness increased, the rain fell, the 
snow came; it shone and dazzled. “Give 
me your hand, I will help you to ascend!” 
said the girl, and touched him with icy-cold 
fingers. 

“You help me,” said Rudy, “I do not 
yet need a woman’s help in climbing!” He 


strode quickly on, away from her; the 


HOMEWARDS. 71 


snow-shower formed a curtain around him, 
the wind whistled by him and he heard the 
young girl laugh and sing; it sounded so 
oddly! Yes, that was certainly a spirit in 
the service of the Ice-Maiden. Rudy 
had heard of them, when he had passed a 
night on high; when he had crossed the 
mountain, as a little boy. 

The snow fell more scantily and the 
shadows lay under him; he looked back, 
there was no one to be seen, but he heard 
laughing and jodling and it did not appear 
to come from a human being. When Rudy 


‘reached the uppermost portion of the moun- 


tain, where the rocky path leads to the 
valley of the Rhone, he saw in the direction 
of Chamouni, two bright stars, twinkling 
and shining in the clear streaks of blue; he 
thought of Babette, of himself, of his hap- 
piness and became warmed by his thoughts. 


a Foyer: ‘at Ves ee oe 
, ae Che 


72 THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 





VeLy 
THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 


“Pou bring princely things into the 
house!” said the old foster-mother, her 
singular eagle-eyes glistened and she made 
strange and hasty motions with her lean 
neck. 

“Fortune is with you, Rudy, I must 
kiss you, my sweet boy!” 

Rudy allowed himself to be kissed, but 
one could read in his countenance, that he 
but submitted to circumstances and to little 
household miseries. ‘‘ How handsome you 
are, Rudy!” said the old woman. 

“Do not put notions into my head!” 
answered Rudy, and laughed, but still it 
pleased him. ' 


Te 


THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 73 


saya 5 say it once more,” said the old 
woman, “fortune is with you!” 

“Yes, I agree with you there!” said he; 
thought of Babette and longed to. be in the 
deep valley. “They must have returned, 
two days have passed since they expected 
to do so. I must go to Bex!” 

Rudy went to Bex, and the inhabitants 
of the mill had returned; he was well re- 
ceived and they brought him greetings from 
the family at Interlaken. Babette did not 
talk much, she had grown silent; but her 
eyes spoke and that was quite enough for 
Rudy. The miller who generally liked to 
carry on the conversation—for he was 
accustomed to have every one laugh at his 
witty sayings and puns—was he not the rich 
miller ?—seemed now to prefer to listen. 
Rudy recounted to him his hunting 





expeditions; described the difficulties, the 


7 





74 THE VISIT TO THE MILL, 


— 


dangers and the privations of the chamois 
hunter when on the lofty mountain neak- 
how often he must climb over the insecure 
snow-ledges, that the wind had blown on 
the rocky brink, and how he must pass 
over slight bridges that the snow-drifts had 
thrown across the abyss. Rudy looked 
fearless, his eyes sparkled whilst he spoke of 
the shrewdness of the chamois, of their 
daring leaps, of the violence of the Fohn 
and of the rolling avaianches. He observed 
that with every description he won more and » 
more favour; but what pleased the miller 
more than all, was the account of the lamb’s 
vulture and the bold golden eagle. 

In Canton Valais, not far from here, 
there was an eagle’s nest, very slyly built 
under the projecting edge of the rock; a 
young one was in it, but no one could steal 
it! An Englishman had offered Rudy a few 





-# 





THE VISIT TO THE MILL, 75 


-_———___—__—. 


days before, a whole handful of gold, if he 
would bring him the young one alive, 
“but everything has a limit,” said he, 
“the young eagle cannot be taken away, 
and it would be madness to attempt it! ” 

The wine and conversation flowed freely ; 
but the evening appeared all too short for 
Rudy; yet it was past midnight, when he 
went home from his first visit to the mill. 

The light shone a little while longer 
through the window and between the green 
trees; the parlour-cat came out of an open- 
ing in the roof and the kitchen-cat came 
along the gutter. 

“Do you know the latest news at the 
mill?” said the parlour-cat, ‘there has 
been a silent betrothal in the house! Father 
doés not yet know it, but Rudy and Babette 
have reached each other their paws under 
the table, and he trod three times on my 


76 THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 


fore-paws, but still I did not mew, for that 
would have awakened attention !” 

“T should have done it, nevertheless!” 
said the kitchen-cat. See 

“What is suited to the kitchen is not 
suited to the parlour,” said the parlour-cat. 
“T should like to know what the miller will 
say, when he hears of the betrothal !” 

Yes, what the miller would say! That 
was what Rudy would have liked to know, 
for Rudy was not at all patient. When the 
omnibus rumbled over the bridge of the 
Rhone, between Valais and Pays de Vaud 
not many days after, Rudy satin it and was 
of good cheer; filled with pleasing thoughts 
of the “ Yes,” of the same evening. 

When evening came and the omnibus 
returned, yes, there sat Rudy within, but 
the parlour-cat, was running about in the 
mill with great news. 





THE VISIT TO THE MILL. PR 


“Listen, you, in the kitchen! The miller 
knows everything now. This has had an 
exquisite ending! Rudy came here towards 
evening; heand Babette had much to whis- 
per and to chatter about, as they stood in the 
walk, under the miller’s chamber. I lay 
close to their feet but they had neither eyes 
nor thoughts forme. ‘I am going directly 
to your father,’ said Rudy, ‘this is an 
honourable affair!’ ‘Shall I follow you?’ 
asked Babette, ‘it may give you more 
courage!’ ‘I have courage enough,’ said 
Rudy, ‘but if you are there, he will be 
forced to look at it in a more favourable 
light!’ They wentin. Rudy trod heavily 
on my tail! Rudy is indescribably awk- 
ward; I mewed, but neither he nor Babette 
had ears to hear it. They opened the door, 
they entered and I preceded them; I leaped 
upon the back of mie for I did not 


78 THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 


know but that Rudy would overturn every- 
thing! But the miller reversed all, that 
was a great step! Out of the door, up the 
mountains, to the chamois! Rudy can aim 
at them now, but not at our little Babette!” 
“But what was said?” asked the kitchen- 
cat. , 
“Said? Hverything. ‘I care for her 
and she cares for me! When there is milk 
enough in the jug for one, there is milk 
enough in the jug fortwo!’ ‘But she is 
placed too high for you,’ said the miller, 
‘she sits on gold dust, so now you know it; 
you can not reach her!’ ‘Nothing is too 
high; he who wills can reach anything!’ 
said Rudy. He is too headstrong on this 
subject! ‘But you cannot reach the eaglet, 
you said so yourself lately |! Babette is still 
higher!’ ‘I will have them both!’ said 
Rudy. ‘Yes, I will bestow her upon you, 





“THE VISIT TO THE MILL, 79 


if you make me a present of the eaglet 
alive!’ said the miller and laughed until 
the tears stood in his eyes. 

“«Thanks for your visit, Rudy! Come 
again to-morrow, you will find no one at 
home. Farewell, Rudy!’ Babette said 
farewell also, as sorrowfully as a kitten, 
that cannot see its mother. ‘A word is a 
word, a man is a man,’ said Rudy, ‘do 
not weep Babette, I shall bring the eaglet!’ 
‘I hope that you will break your neck!’ 
said the miller. ‘hat’s what I call an over- 
turning! Now Rudy has gone, and Babette 
sits and weeps; but the miller sings in 
German, he learned to do so whilst on his 
journey! I do not intend to trouble myself 
any longer about it, it does no good!” 

“There is still a prospect!” said the 
kitchen-cat. 


ES 


80 THE EAGLE’S NEST. 





Vil 


- THE EAGLE’S NEST. 


Stlerry and loud sounded the jodel from 
the mountain-path, it indicated good humour 
and joyous courage; it was Rudy; he was 
going to his friend Vesinand. 
~ “You must help me! We will take Ragli 
with us; I am going after the eaglet on the 
brink of the rock!” 

“Do you not wish to go after the black 
spot in the moon? That is quite as easy,” said 
Vesinand; “you are in a good humour!” 


“Yes, because I am thinking of my wed- 


ding; but seriously, you shall know how 


my affairs stand!” 
Vesinand and Ragli soon knew what 
Rudy wished. 


THE EAGLE’S NEST. « Sr 





“You are a bold fellow,” said they. ‘do 
not do this! You will break your neck!” 

“One does not fall, when one does not 
think of it!” said Rudy. 

About mid-day, they set out with poles, 
ladders and ropes; their path lay through 
bushes and brambles, over the rolling 
stones, up, up in the dark night. 

The water rushed beneath them; the 
water flowed above them and the humid 
clouds chased each other in the air. The 
hunters approached the steep brink of the 
rock; it became darker and darker, the 
rocky walls almost met; high above them 
in the narrow fissure the air penetrated 
and gave light. Under their feet there 
was a deep abyss with its roaring waters. 

They all three sat still, awaiting the grey 
of the morning; then the eagle would fly 
out; they must shoot him before they could 


«# 





82 » | THE EAGLE’S” NEST: 





think of obtaining the young one. Rudy 
seemed to be a part of the stone on which 
he sat; his rifle placed before him, ready: to 
take aim, his eyes immoveably fastened on 
yon high cleft which concealed the eagle’s 
nest. The three huntsmen waited long. 

A crashing, whizzing noise sounded high 
above them; a large hovering object dark- 
ened the air. Two rifle barrels were aimed 
as the black eagle flew from its nest; a 
shot was heard, the out-spread wings moved 
an instant, then the bird slowly sank as if 
it wished to fill the entire cliff with its out- 
stretched wings and bury the huntsmen in 
its fall. The eagle sank in the deep; the 
branches of the trees and_ bushes cracked, 
broken by the fall of the bird. 

They now displayed their activity ; three 
of the longest ladders were tied together ; 
they stood them on the farthest point where 
4 


THE EAGLE’S NEST. 33 


the foot could place itself with security, 
close to the brink of the precipice—but 
they were not long enough; there was still 
a great space from the outermost projecting 
cliff, which protected the nest; the rocky 
wall was perfectly smooth. After some - 
consultation, they decided to lower into 
the opening two ladders tied together and 
to fasten them to the three already beneath 
them. With great difficulty they dragged 
them up and attached them with cords; the 
ladders shot over the projecting cliffs and 
hung over the chasm ; Rudy sat already on 
the lowest round. 

It was an ice-cold morning, and the mist 
mounted from the black ravine. Rudy sat 
there like a fly on a rocking blade of grass, 
*which a nest-building bird has dropped in 
its hasty flight, on the edge of a factory 
chimney; but the fly had the advantage of 


hy 
: 


84. THE EAGLE’S. NEST. 


— 


escaping by its wings, poor Rudy had none, 


he was almost sure to break his neck. The. 
wind whistled around him and the roaring 


water from the thawed glaciers, the palace of 
the Ice-Maiden, poured itself into the abyss. 

He gave the ladders a swinging motion— 
as the spider swings herself by her long 
thread—he seized them with a strong and 
steady hand, but they shook as if they had 
worn-out hasps. 

The five long ladders looked like a tremu- 
lous reed, as they reached the nest and hung 
perpendicularly over the rocky wall. Now 
came the most dangerous part; Rudy had 
to climb asa cat climbs; but Rudy could 
do this, for the cat had taught it to him. 
He did not feel that Vertigo trod in the 
air behind him and stretched her polypus- 
hke arms towards him. Now he stood on the 
highest round of the ladder and perceived 





ee 








THE EAGLE’S NEST. 85 


that he was not sufficiently high to enable 
him to see into the nest; he could reach it 
with his hands. He tried how firm the twigs 
were, which plaited in one another formed 
the bottom of the nest; when he had 
assured himself of a thick and immoveable 
one, he swung himself off of the ladder 
He had his breast and head over the nest, 
out of which streamed towards him a 
stifling stench of carrion; torn. Jambs, 
chamois and birds lay decomposing around. 
him. Vertigo, who had no power over 
him, blew poisonous vapours into his face 
to stupify him ; below in the black, yawning 
abyss, sat the Ice-Maiden herself, on the 
hastening water, with her long greenish- 
white hair and stared at him with death- 
like eyes, which were pointed at him like 
two rifle barrels. 


“Now, I shall catch you!” 
8 





ae ee 7 a ha + ——— 
86 THE EAGLE’S’ NEST. 





Seated in one corner of the eagle’s nest 
was the eaglet, who could not fly yet, 
although so strong and powerful. Rudy 
fastened his eyes on it, held himself with 
his whole strength firmly by one hand, and 
with the other threw the noose around it. 
It was captured alive, its legs were in the 
knot; Rudy cast the rope over his shoulder, 
so that the animal dangled some distance 
below him, and sustained himself by another 
rope which hung down, until his feet touched 
the upper round of the ladder. 

“Hold fast, do not think that you will 
fall and then you are sure not to do so!” 
That was the old lesson, and he followed it; 
held fast, climbed, was sure not to fall and 
he did not. 

There resounded a strong jodling, and a 
joyous one too. Rudy stood on the firm, 
rocky ground with the young eaglet. 


THE PARLOUR-CAT. 87 


-—- 


WERE 


THE NEWS WHICH 
THE PARLOUR-CAT RELATED. 


fore is what you demanded!” said 
Rudy, on entering the house of the miller 
at Bex, as he placed a large basket on the 
floor and took off the covering. Two yel- 
low eyes, with black circles around them, 
fiery and wild, looked out as if they wished 
to set on fire, or to kill those around therm. 
The short beak yawned ready to bite and 
the neck was red and downy. 

“The eaglet!” cried the miller. Babette 
screamed, jumped to one side and could 
neither turn her eyes from Rudy, nor from 
the eaglet. | 

“You do not allow yourself to be fright- 
ened!” said the miller. 








83 THE NEWS WHICH THE 





“And you keep your word, at all times,” 
said Rudy, “each has his characteristic 
trait!” . 

“But why did you not break your 
neck?” asked the miller. 

‘‘Because I held on firmly,” answered’ 
Rudy, ‘and I hold firmly on Babette!” 

“ First see that you have her!” said the 
miller and laughed ; that was a good sign; 
Babette knew this. 

‘Let us take the eaglet from the basket, 
it is terrible to see how he glares! How 
did you get him?” 

Rudy was obliged to recount his adven- 
ture, whilst the miller stared at him with 
eyes, which grew larger and larger. 

_ “With your courage and with your luck 
you could take care of three wives!” said 
the miller. | | 

“Thanks! Thanks!” cried Rudy. 


PARLOUR-CAT RELATED. 89 


‘Yes, but you have not yet Babette!” 
said the miller as he struck the young 
chamois hunter, jestingly on the shoulder. 

“Do you know the latest news in the 
mill?” said the parlour-cat to the kitchen-cat. 
“ Rudy has brought us the young eagle and 
taken Babette in exchange. They have 
kissed each other and the father looked 
on. That is just as good as a betrothal: 
the old man did not overturn anything, he 
drew in his claws, took his nap and left the 
two seated, caressing each other. They have 
so much to relate, they will not get through 

| till Christmas!” 
| They had not finished at Christmas. 

The wind whistled through the brown 
foliage, the snow swept through the valley | 
as it did on the high mountains. The Ice- 
Maiden sat in her proud castle and arrayed 


herself in her winter costume; the ice walls 


8* 








‘go THE NEWS WHICH THE 


stood in glazed frost; where the mountain 
streams waved their watery veil in summer, 
were now seen thick elephantine icicles; 
shining garlands of ice, formed of fantastic 
ice crystals, encircled the fir-trees, which 
were powdered with snow. 

The Ice-Maiden rode on the blustering 
wind over the deepest valleys. The snow 
covering lay over all Bex; Rudy stayed in 
doors more than was his wont, and sat 
with Babette. The wedding was to take 


place in the summer; their friends talked 
so much of it that it often made their 
ears burn. All was sunshine with them, 
and the loveliest alpine rose was Babette, 
the sprightly, laughing Babette, who was 
as charming as the early spring; the 
spring that makes the birds sing, that 
will bring the summer time and the 


wedding day. 


PARLOUR-CAT RELATED. gt 


‘** How can they sit there and hang over 
each other,” exclaimed the parlour-cat, “I 
am really tired of their eternal mewing!” 





” THE ICE-MAIDEN. 


IX. 


THE ICE-MAIDEN. 


Gus early spring time had unfolded the 
green leaves of the walnut and chestnut 
trees; they were remarkably luxuriant 
from the bridge of St. Maurice to the banks 
of the lake of Geneva. 

The Rhone, which rushes forth from its 
source, has under the green glacier the 
palace of the Ice-Maiden. She is carried 
by it and the sharp wind to the elevated 
snow-fields, where she extends herself on 
her damp cushions in the brilliant sunshine, 
There she sits and gazes, with far-seeing 
sight, upon the valley where mortals busily 
move about like so many ants. 

‘Beings endowed with mental powers, 
as the children of the Sun, call you,” said 





pail eal 





THE ICE-MAIDEN, 93 


the Ice-Maiden—“ye are worms! Qne 
snow-ball rolled and you and your houses 
and towns are crushed and swept away!” 
She raised her proud head still higher and 
looked with death-beaming eyes far around 
and below her. From the valley resounded 
a rumbling, a blasting of rocks, men were 
making railways and tunnels. ‘They are 
playing like moles,” said she, “they exca- 
vate passages, and a noise is made like the 
firing of a gun. When I transpose my 
castles, it roars louder than the rolling 
of the thunder!” ; 

A smoke arose from the valley and 
moved along like a floating veil, like a 
waving plume; it was the locomotive which 
led the train over the newly built railroad— 
this crooked snake, whose limbs are formed 
of cars upon cars. It shot along with the 
speed of an arrow. 


94 THE ICE-MAIDEN. 


‘They are playing the masters with 
their mental powers,” said the Ice-Maiden, 
“but the powers of nature are the ruling 
ones!” and she laughed and her laugh was 
echoed in the valley. 

“ Now an avalanche is rolling!” said the 
men below. | 

Still more loudly sang the children of 
the Sun; they sang of the “thoughts” of 
men which fetter the sea to the yoke, cut 
down mountains and fill up valleys; of 
human thoughts which rule the powers of 
nature. At this moment, a company of 
travellers crossed the snow-field where the 
Maiden sat; they had bound themselves 
firmly together with ropes, in order to form 
a large body on the smooth ice-field by the 
deep abyss. 

“Worms!” said she, “as if you were 
lords of creation!” She turned from them 





THE ICE-MAIDEN. 95 


and looked mockingly upon the deep valley, 
where the cars were rushing by. 

“There sit those thoughts in their power 
of strength! I see them all!—There sits one, 
proud as a king and alone! They sit in 
masses! There, half are asleep! When the 
steam-dragon stops, they will descend and 
go their way! The thoughts go out into 
the world!” She laughed. 

“There rolls another avalanche!” they 
said in the valley. 

“Tt will not catch us!” said two on the 
back of the steam dragon;—‘‘two souls 
and one thought ”—these were Rudy and 
Babette ; the miller was there also. 

“As baggage,” said he, “TI go along, as 
the indispensable!” 

“There sit the two,” said the Ice- 
Maiden, “I have crushed many a chamois ; 


I have bent and broken millions of alpine 





96 THE ICE-MAIDEN. 


roses, so that no roots were left! I shall 
annihilate them! The thoughts! The men- 
tal powers!” She laughed. 

“There rolls another avalanche!” they , 
said in the valley. 








THE GOD-MOTHER. 97 


a oes 


THE GOD-MOTHER. 


LSS Montreux, one of the adjoining towns, 
which with Clarens, Vernex and Crin forms 
a garland around the northeast part of the 
lake of Geneva, dwelt Babette’s god-mother, 
a distinguished English lady, with her 
daughters and a young relation. Although 
she had but lately arrived, the miller had 
already made her his visit and announced 
Babette’s engagement; had spoken of Rudy 
and the eaglet; of the visit to Interlaken 
and. in short had told the whole story. 
This had rejoiced her in the highest degree, 
both for Rudy and Babette’s sake, as well 
as for the miller’s; they must all visit her— 


therefore they came. Babette was to see 
9 


98 THE GOD-MOTHER. 


her god-mother, and the god-mother was to 
see Babette. | 

At the end of the lake of Geneva, by 
the little town of Villeneuve, lay the steain- 
boat which after half an hour’s trip from 
Vernex, arrived at Montreux. This is one - 
of the coasts which are sung of by the 
poets. Here sat Byron, by the deep bluish 
green lake, under the walnut trees and 
wrote his melodious verses upon the prisoner 
of the deep sombre castle of Chillon. 
Here, where Clarens with its weeping wil- 
lows, mirrored itself in the waters, once 
wandered Rousseau and dreamt of Heloise. 
Yonder, where the Rhone glides along under 
Savoy’s snow-topped mountains and not far 
from its mouth, in the lake lies a little 
island, indeed it. is so small, that from the 
coast it is taken for a vessel. It is a valley 
between the rocks, which a lady caused to 











THE GOD-MOTHER. 99 





be dammed up a hundred years ago and to 
be covered with earth and planted with 
three acacia-trees, which now shade the 
whole island. Babette was quite charmed 
with this little spot; they must and should 
go there, yes, it must be charming beyond 
description to be on the island; but the 
steamer sailed by, and stopped as it should, 
at Vernex. } 
The little party wandered between the 
white, sunlighted walls, which surround the 
vineyards of the little mountain town of 
Montreux, through the fig-trees which flour- 
ish before every peasant’s house and in whose 
gardens, the laurel and cypress trees are 
green. Half-way up the hill stood the board- 
ing house where the god-mother resided. 
The reception was very cordial. The 
god-mother was a large amiable person and 


had a round smiling countenance; as a 


100 THE GOD-MOTHER. 


child she must have had a real Raphael’s 
angel head, but now it was an old angel's 
head with silvery white hair, well curled. 
The daughters were tall, slender, refined 
and much dressed. The young cousin who 
was with them, was clad in white from head 
to foot; he had golden hair and immense 
whiskers; he immediately showed little 
Babette the greatest attention. 

Richly bound books, loose musie and 

drawings lay strewn about the large table; 
the balcony door stood open and one had a 
view of the beautiful out-spread lake, which 
was so shining, so still, that the moun- 
tains of Savoy with their little villages, 
their forest and their snowy peaks mirrored 
themselves in it. 

Rudy, who usually was so full of life, so 
merry and so daring, did not feel in his 
element; he moved about over the smooth 





THE GOD-MOTHER. Ios 


floor as though he were treading on peas. 
How wearily the time dragged along, it 
was just as if one was in a tread mill! If 
they did go walking, why, that was just as 
slow; Rudy could take two steps forwards 
and two steps backwards and still remain 
in the pace of the others. 

When they came to Chillon, (the old 
sombre castle on the rocky island) they 
entered in order to see the dungeon and 
the martyr’s stake, as well as the rusty 
chains on the wall; the stone bed for those 
condemned to death and the trap-door where 
the wretched beings impaled on iron goads, 
were hurled into the breakers. It was a 
place of execution elevated through Byron’s 
song to the world of poetry. Rudy was 
sad, he lent over the broad stone sill of the 
window, gazed into the deep blue water 


and over to the little solitary island with 
gs 


a El ie ae 


Fr 


102 THE GOD-MOTHER. 


\ 





its three acacias and wished himself there, 
free from the whole gossiping society. 
Babette was remarkably merry, she had 
been indescribably amused. The cousin 
found her perfect. 

“Yes, a perfect jackanapes!” said Rudy ; 
this was the first time, that he had said 


something, that did not please her. The 


ef) 
Englishman had presented her with a little 
book, as a souvenir of Chillon,—Byron’s 


an the 


poem of “The Prisoner of Chillon,’ 
French language, so that Babette might 
read it. 

“The book may be good,” said Rudy, 
“but the finely combed fellow that gave 
it to you does not please me!” . 

“He looked lke a meal-bag, without 
meal in it!” said the miller and laughed 
at his own wit. Rudy laughed and thought 


that this was very well said. 





THE COUSIN. 103 


XI. 


THE COUSIN. 


Wuex Rudy came to the mill, a couple 
of days afterwards, he found the young 
Englishman there. Babette had just cooked 
some trout for him and had dressed them 
with parsley in order to make them appear 
more inviting. That was assuredly not 
necessary. What did the Englishman want 
here? Did he come in order to have 
Babette entertain and wait upon him? 

Rudy was jealous and that amused 
Babette; it rejoiced her, to learn the feel- 
ings of his heart, the strong as well as the 
weak ones. 

Until now love had been a play and she 


played with Rudy’s whole heart; yet he 





104 THE COUSIN. 


was her happiness, her life's thought, the 
noblest one! The more gloomy he looked, 
the more her eyes laughed and she would 
have liked to kiss the blonde Englishman 
with his golden whiskers, if she could have 
succeded by so doing, in making Rudy 
rush away furious, Then, yes then, she 
would have known how much he loved 
her. That was not right, that was not wise 
in little Babette; but she was only nine- 
teen! She did not reflect and still less did 
she think how her behaviour towards the 
young Englishman might be interpreted ; 
for it was lighter and merrier than was 
seemly for the honourable and newly affi- 
anced daughter of the miller. 

The mill lay where the highway slopes— 
under the snow covered rocky heights— 
which are called here, in the language of 
the country ‘Diablerets” close to a rapid 











THE COUSIN. | Teks 


mountain stream, which was of a greyish 
white, ike bubbling soap suds. A smaller 
stream, rushes forth from the rocks on the 
other side of the river, passes through an 
enclosed, broad rafter-made-gutter and turns 
the large wheel of the mill. The gutter 
was so full of water, that it streamed over 
and offered a most slippery way, to one 
who had the idea of crossing more quickly 
to the mill; a young man had this idea— 
the Englishman. Guided by the light, 
which shone from Babette’s window, he 
arrived in the evening, clothed in white, 
like a miller’s boy; he had not learned to 
climb and nearly tumbled head over heels 
into the stream, but escaped with wet 
sleeves and splashed pantaloons. He reached 
Babette’s window, muddy and wet through, 
there he climbed into the old linden tree 
and imitated the screech of an owl, for he 





106 THE COUSIN. 


could not sing like any other bird. Babette 
heard it and peeped through the thin cur- 
tains, but when she remarked the white man 
and recognized him, her little heart fluttered 
with alarm, but also with anger. She 
hastily extinguished the light, fastened the 
windows securely and then she let him howl. 

If Rudy was in the mill it would have 
been dreadful, but Rudy was not there ; no, 
it was much worse, for he was below. 
There was loud conversation, angry words; 
there might be blows; yes, perhaps murder. 

Babette was terrified; she opened the 
window, called Rudy’s name and begged 
him to go; she said she would not suffer 
him to remain. 

“You will not suffer me to remain,” he 
exclaimed, “ then it is a preconcerted thing ! 
You were expecting other friends, friends 


better than myself; shame on you, Babette!” 








THE COUSIN. 107 


“You are detestable,” said Babette, “I 
hate you!” and she wept.. “Go! Go!” 

“T have not deserved this!” said he, and 
departed. His cheeks burned like fire, his 
heart burned like fire. 

Babette threw herself on her bed and 
wept. 

“So much as I love you, Rudy, how can 
yow believe ill of me!” 

She was angry, very angry, and this was 
good for her; otherwise she would have 
sorrowed deeply ; but now she could sleep, 
and she slept the strengthening sleep of 
youth, 





108 THE EVIL POWERS. 


a 


XII. 


THE EVIL POWERS. 


Rup forsook Bex and went on his way 
home, in the fresh, cool air, up the snow- 
covered mountain, where the Ice-Maiden 
ruled. The leafy trees which lay beneath 
him, looked like potato vines; fir-trees and 
bushes became less frequent; the alpine roses 
-grew in the snow, which lay in little spots 
like linen put out to bleach. There stood a 
blue anemone, he crushed it with the barrel 
of his gun. | 

Higher up two chamois appeared and 
Rudy’s eyes gained lustre and his thoughts 
took a new direction; but he was not near 
enough to make a good shot; he ascended 
still higher, where only stiff grass grows 








THE EVIL POWERS. 109 


between the blocks of stone ; the chamois 
were quietly crossing the snow field; he 
hurried hastily on; the fog was descending 
and he suddenly stood before the steep rocky. 
wall. The rain commenced to fall. 

He felt a burning thirst ; heat in his head, 
cold in all his limbs; he grasped his hunting 
flask, but it was empty ; he had not thought 
of filling it when he rushed up the hill. 
He had never been ill, but now he was so; 
he was weary and had a desire to throw 
himself down to sleep, but everything was 
streaming with water. He endeavoured to 
eollect his ideas, but all objects danced 
before his eyes. Suddenly he perceived a 
newly built hause leaning against the rocks 
and in the doorway stood a young girl. 
Yes, it appeared to him that it was the. 
schoolmaster’s Annette, whom he had once 


kissed whilst dancing; but it was not 
10 





110 THE EVIL POWERS. 


Annette and yet he had seen her before— 
perhaps in Grindelwald, on the evening 
when he returned from the shooting-festival 
at Interlaken. 

‘‘Where do you come from ?” asked he. 

“T am at home,” said she, “I tend my 
flock!” 

“Your flock, where do they pasture? 
Here are only cliffs and snow!” 

“You have a ready answer,” said she 
and laughed; “below there is a charming 
meadow! There are my goats! I take 
good care of them! I lose none of them, 
what is mine, remains mine!” 

“You are bold!” said Rudy. 

“So are you!” answered she. 

“Have you any milk? Do give me 
some, my thirst is intolerable!” 

“T have something better than milk,” 


said she, “and you shall have it! Travel- 


— 








THE EVIL POWERS, ; I1t 


lers came yesterday with their guide, but 
they forgot a flask of wine, such as you 
have never tasted; they will not come for 
it, I shall not drink it, so drink you!” 

She brought the wine, poured it in a 
wooden cup and handed it to Rudy. 

“That is good,” said he, “I have never 
drunk such a warming, such a fiery wine!” 
His eyes beamed, a life, a glow came over 
him ; all sorrow and oppression seemed to 
die away; gushing, fresh human nature 
stirred itself within him. 

“Why this is the schoolmaster’s An- 
nette,” exclaimed he, “‘ give me a kiss!” 

“Yes, give me the beautiful ring, which 
you wear on your finger!” 

“My engagement ring?” 

“ Just that one!” said the young girl and 
pouring wine into the cup, put it to his lips 
and hedrank. Then the joy of life streamed 


112 , THE EVIL POWERS. 


in his blood; the whole world seemed. to — 


belong to him. ‘ Why torment one’s self ? 


Every thing is made for our enjoyment and 


happiness! The stream of life is the stream 
of joy, and forgetfulness is felicity!” He 
looked at the young girl, it was Annette 
and then again not Annette; still less, an 
enchanted phantom, as he had named her, 
when he met her near Grindelwald. The 
girl on the mountain was fresh as the newly 
fallen snow, blooming as the alpine rose and 
hight as a kid; and a human being like 
Rudy. We wound his arm about her, 
looked in her strange clear eyes, yes, only 
for a second—but was it spiritual life or was 
it death which flowed through him? Was 
he raised on high, or did he sink into the 
deep, murderous ice-pit, deeper and ever 
deeper? He saw icy walls like bluish green 
glass, numberless clefts yawned around, and 


oe 


THE EVIL POWERS. 113 


—— 


the water sounded as it dropped, like a 
chime of bells; it was pearly, clear and 
shone in bluish white flames. The Ice- 
Maiden gave him a kiss, which made him 
shiver from head to foot and he gave a cry 
_of pain. He staggered and fell; it grew 
dark before his eyes, but soon all became 
clear to him again; the evil powers had 
had their sport with him. 

The alpine maiden had vanished, the 
mountain hut had vanished, the water beat 
against the bare rocky walls and all around 
him lay snow. Rudy wet to the skin, 
trembled from cold and his ring had disap- 
peared, his engagement ring, which Babette 
had given him. He tried to fire off his 
rifle which lay near him in the snow but it 
missed. Humid clouds lay in the clefts lke 
firm masses of snow and Vertigo watched 


for her powerless prey; beneath him in the 
10* 


/ 


VI4 THE EVIL POWERS. 


—_ 








deep chasm it sounded as if a block of the 
rock was rolling down and was endeavour- 
ing to crush and tear up all that met it in 
its fall. | 

In the mill sat Babette and wept; Rudy 
had not been there for six days; he who | 
had been so wrong; he who must beg her 
forgiveness, because she loved him with her 
whole heart. 











IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE. 11§ 


, XIII. 


IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE. 


“%)iar confusion!” said the parlour-cat 
to the kitchen-cat. 

“Now all is wrong between Rudy and 
Babette. She sits and weeps and he thinks 
‘no longer on her, I suppose. 

“I cannot bear it!” said the kitchen-cat. 

“Nor I,” said the parlour-cat, “but 1 
shall not worry myself any longer about it! 
Babette can take the red-whiskered one for 
a dear one, but he has not been here either, 
since he tried to get on the roof!” 

Within and without, the evil powers 
ruled, and Rudy knew this, and reflected 
upon what had taken place both around and 


within him, whilst upon the mountain. 


116 IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE. 





Were those faces, or was all a feverish 
dream? He had never known fever or 
sickness before. Whilst he condemned 
Babette, he also condemned himself. He 
thought of the wild, wicked feelings which 
had lately possessed him. Could he con- 
fess everything to Babette? Every thought, 
which in the hour of temptation might 
have become a reality? He had lost her 
ring and by this loss had she won him back. 
Could she confess to him? Jt seemed as if 
his heart would break when he thought of 
her; so many recollections passed through 
his soul. He saw her a lively, laughing, 
petulent child; many a loving word, which 
she had said to him in the fullness of her 
heart, shot like a sunbeam through his breast 
and soon all there was sunshine for Babette. 

She must be able to confess to him and 
she should do so. 








IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE. Vig 


He came to the mill, he came to confes- 
sion; and this commenced with a kiss, and 
ended with the fact that Rudy was the 
sinner; his great fault was, ‘that he had 
doubted Babette’s fidelity; yes, that was 
indeed atrocious in him! Such mistrust, 
such violence could bring them both into 
misfortune! Yes, most surely! There- 
upon Babette preached him a little sermon, 
which much diverted her and became her 
charmingly; in one article Rudy was quite 
right; the god-mother's relation was a jack- 
anapes! She should burn the book that 
he had given her, and not possess the slight- 
est object which could remind her of him. 

“Now it is all arranged,” said the 
parlour-cat, ““Rudy is here again, they 
understand each other and that is a great 
happiness !” 

“Last night,” said the kitchen-cat, “I 


6.7 ~~ Se ea a fy 
EA es eae i ar 
x : : oe 
yen * 

: 7 
2 "qi 


Be i oe he IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE. 





beard the rats say that the greatest happi- 
ness was to eat tallow candles, and to have 
abundance of tainted meat. Now who 
must one believe, the rats or the lovers?” 

“Neither of them,” said the parlour-cat, 
“that is the surest way !” 

The greatest happiness for Rudy and 
Babette was drawing near; they were 
awaiting, so they said, their happiest day, 
their wedding day. 

But the wedding was not to be in the 
church of Bex, nor in the miller’s| house ; 
the god-mother wished it to be solemnized | 
near her, and the marriage ceremony was 
to take place in the beautiful little church 
of Montreux. The miller insisted that her 
desire should be fulfilled; he alone knew 
what the god-mother intended for the young 
couple; they were to receive a bridal pre- 


sent from her. which was well worth so 





IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE. 119 


slight’a concession. Theday was appointed. 
They were to leave for Villeneuve, in time 
to arrive at Montreux early in the morning, 
and so enable the god-mother’s daughters to 
dress the bride. 

“Then I suppose there will be a wedding 
here in the house, on the following day,” 
said the parlour-cat, “otherwise, I would 
not give a single mew for the whole thing!” 

“There will be a feast here,” said the 
kitchen-cat, “the ducks are slain, the 
pigeons necks wrung, and a whole deer 
hangs on the wall. ~My teeth itch just with 
looking on! ‘To-morrow the journey com- 
mences |” 

Yes, to-morrow! Rudy and Babette sat 
together for the last time in the mill. 

Without was the alpine glow; the evening 
bells pealed ; the daughters of the Sun sang: 
“What is for the best will take place!” 





et a 
Sah a 


120 THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 


XIV. 


THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 


@us sun had gone down; the clouds 
lowered themselves into the Rhone valley— 
between the high mountains; the wind 
blew from the south over the mountains— 
an African wind, a Féhn,—which tore the 
clouds asunder. When the wind had passed, 
all was still for an instant; the parted 
clouds hung in fantastic forms between the 
forest-grown mountains. Over the hasten- 
ing Rhone, their shapes resembled sea 
monsters of the primeval world, soaring 
eagles of the air and leaping frogs of the 
ditches—they seemed to sink into the 
rapid stream and to sail on the river, yet 
they still floated in the air. The stream 








THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 121 


carried away a pine tree, torn up by the 
roots; and the water sent whirlpools ahead ; 
this was Vertigo, with her attendants, and 
they danced in circles on the foaming 
stream. The moon shone on the snow of 
the mountain-peaks ; it lighted up the dark 
forest and the singular white clouds; the 
peasants of the mountain, saw through 
their window panes, the nightly apparitions 
and the spirits of the powers of nature, as 
they sailed before the Ice-Maiden. She 
eame from her glacier castle, she sat in a 
frail bark, a felled fir-tree; the water of the 
glaciers carried her up the stream out to the 
main sea. 

“The wedding guests are coming!” was 
whizzed and sung in the air and in the 
water. 

Visions without and visions within ! 


Babette dreamt a wonderful dream. 
11 





122 THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 


It appeared to her, as though she was 
married to Rudy, and had been so for many 
years. He had gone chamois hunting and 
as she sat at home, the “young Englishman 
with the golden whiskers was beside her; 
his eyes were fiery, his words seemed 
endowed with magical power; he reached 
her his hand and she was obliged to follow 
him. | 
They flew from home. Steadily down- 
wards. 

A weight lay upon her heart and it grew 
ever heavier. Jt was a sin against Rudy, a 
sin against God; suddenly she stood for- 
saken. Her clothes were torn by the 
thorns; her hair had grown grey; she 
looked up in her sorrow and she saw Rudy 
on the edge of the rock. She stretched 


her arms towards him, but she ventured 


neither to call, nor to implore him; but 





oC =e 





THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 123 


she soon saw that it was not he himself, 
only his hunting coat and hat, which were 
hanging on his alpine staff, as the hunters 
are accustomed to place them, in order to 
deceive the chamois! Babette moaned in 
boundless anguish: 

“Ah! would that I had died on my 
wedding day, my happiest day! Oh! my 
heavenly Father! That would have been 
a mercy, a life’s happiness! Then we would 
have obtained, the best, that could have 
happened to us! No one knows his future! ” 
In her impious sorrow, she threw herself 
down the steep precipice. It seemed as if a 
string broke, and a sorrowful tone resounded. 

Babette awoke—the dream was at an end 
and obliterated; but she knew that she 
had dreamt of something terrible, and of the 
young Englishman, whom she had neither 
seen, nor thought of, for many months. 


*~ a 


124 THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 


Was he perhaps in Montreux? Should 
she see him at her wedding? A slight 
shadow flitted over her delicate mouth, 
her brow contracted; but her smile soon 
returned ; her eyes sparkled again; the sun 
shone so beautifully without, and to-mor- 
row, yes to-morrow was her and Rudy’s 
wedding day. | 

Rudy had already arrived, when she 
came down stairs, and they soon left for 
Villeneuve. They were so happy, the two, 
and the miller also; he laughed and was 
radiant with joy; he was a good father, 
an honest soul, 

‘Now we are the masters of the house!” 


said the parlour-cat. 


os 








CONCLUSION. 125 





XV. 


CONCLUSION. 


Sr was not yet night, when the three 
joyous people reached Villeneuve and took 
their dinner. The miller seated himself in an 
arm-chair with his pipe and took a little nap. 
The betrothed went out of the town arm in 
arm, out on the carriage way, under the 
bush-grown rocks, to the deep bluish-green 
lake. Sombre Chillon, with its grey walls 
and heavy towers, mirrored itself in the 
clear water; but still nearer lay the little 
island, with its three acacias, and it looked 
like a bouquet on the lake. 

‘How charming it must be there!” said 
Babette; she felt again the greatest desire 
to visit it, and this wish could be immedi- 


7 ge oe 


126 CONCLUSION. 


ately fulfilled; fora boat lay on the shore and. 


the rope which fastened it, was easy to untie. 


Asno one was visible, from whom they could 


ask permission, they took the boat without 
hesitation, for Rudy could row well. The 
oars skimmed like the fins of a fish, over 
the pliant water, which is so yielding and 
still so strong; which is all back to carry, 
but all mouth to engulph; which smiles— 
yes, is gentleness itself, and still awakens 
terror—and is so powerful in destroying. 
The rapid current soon brought the boat to 
the island; they stepped on land. There 
Was just room enough for the two to dance. 

Rudy swung Babette three times around, 
and then they seated themselves on the 
little bench, under the acacias, looked into 
each other’s eyes, held each other by the 
hand, and everything around them shone in 


the splendour of the setting sun. The 








CONCLUSION. 127 


forests of fir-trees on the mountains became 
of a pinkish lilac aspect, the colour of 
blooming heath, and where the bare rocks 
were apparent, they glowed as if they were 
transparent. The clouds in the sky were 
radiant with a red glow; the whole lake 
was like a fresh flaming) rose leaf. As the 
shadows arose to the snow-covered moun-. 
tains of Savoy, they became dark blue, but 
the uppermost peak seemed like red lava and 
pointed out for a moment, the whole range 
of mountains, whose masses arose glowing 
from the bosom of the earth. 

It seemed to Rudy and Babette, that they 
had never seen such an alpine glow. The 
snow-covered Dent-du-Midi, had a lustre ike 
the full moon, when it rises to the horizon. 

“So much beauty, so much happiness!” 
they both said. 

“arth can give me no more,” said Rudy, 





128 CONCLUSION. 





‘an evening hour like this is a whole life! 
How often have I felt as now, and thought 
that if everything should end suddenly, how 
happily have I lived! How blessed is this 
world! The day ended, a new one dawned 
and I felt that it was still more beautiful | 
How bountiful is our Lord, Babette!” 

“Tam so happy!” said she. | 

“Harth can give me no more!” ex- 
claimed Rudy. 

The evening bells resounded from the 
Savoy and Swiss mountains; the bluish- 
black, Jura arose in golden splendour to- 
wards the west. 

“God give you that which is most 
excellent and best, Rudy!” said Babette. 

“He will do that,’ answered Rudy, 
“to-morrow I shall have it! To-morrow 
you will be entirely mine! Mine own, 


little, lovely wife!” 


CONCLUSION, 129 


“The boat!” cried Babette at the same 
moment. | 

The boat, which was to convey them back, 
had broken loose and was sailing from the 
island. 

“T will go for it!” said Rudy. He threw 
off his coat, drew off his boots, sprang in 
the lake and swam towards the boat. 

The clear, bluish-grey water of the ice 
mountains, was cold and deep. Rudy gave 
but a single glance and it seemed as though 
he saw a gold ring, rolling, shining and 
sporting—he thought on his lost engage- 
ment ring—and the ring grew larger, 
widened into a sparkling circle and within 
it shone the clear glacier; all about yawned 
endless deep chasms; the water dropped and 
sounded like a chime of bells, and shone with 
bluish-white flames. He saw in a second, 


what we must say in many long words. 








130 CONCLUSION. 


Young hunters and young girls, men and 
women, who had once perished in the 
glacier, stood there living, with open eyes 
and smiling mouth; deep below them 
chimed from buried towns the peal of 
church bells; under the arches of the 
churches knelt the congregation; pieces of 
ice formed the organ pipes, and the moun- 
tain stream played the organ. Onthe clear 
transparent ground sat the Ice-Maiden; she 
raised herself towards Rudy, kissed his 
feet, and the coldness of death ran through 
his limbs and gave him an electric shock— 
ice and fire. He could not perceive the 
difference. 

‘Mine, mine!” sounded around him and 
within him. 

“T kissed you, when you were young, 
kissed you on your mouth! Now I kiss 


your fect, you are entirely mine!” 


aS" il lial aa 


CONCLUSION. 131 


He vanished in the clear blue water. 

Everything was still; the church bells 
stopped ringing; the last tones died away 
with the splendour of the red clouds. 

“You are mine!” sounded in the deep. 
“You are mine!” sounded from on high 
from the infinite. 

How happy to fly from love to love, from 
earth to heaven ! 

A string broke, a cry of grief was 
heard, the icy kiss of death conquered; 
the prelude ended; so that the drama of 
life might commence, discord melted into 
harmony.— . 

Do you call this a sad story ? 

Poor Babette! For her it was a period 
of anguish. 

The boat drifted farther and farther. No 
one on shore knew that the lovers were on 


the island. The evening darkened, the 





132 | CONCLUSION. 


clouds lowered themselves; night came. 
She stood there, solitary, despairing, 'moan- — 
ing. A flash of lightning passed over the 
Jura mountains, over Switzerland and over 
Savoy. From all sides flash upon flash of 
lightning, clap upon clap of thunder, which 
rolled continuously many minutes, At 
times the lghtning was vivid as sunshine, 
and you could distinguish the grape vines; 
then all became black again in the dark 
night. The lightning formed knots, ties, 
zigzags, complicated figures; it struck in 
the lake, so that it lit it up on all sides; 
whilst the noise of the thunder was made 
louder by the echo. The boat was drawn 
on shore; all living objects sought shelter. 
Now the rain streamed down. 

“Where can Rudy and Babette be in 
this frightful weather!” said the miller. 

Babette sat with folded hands, with her 


“e 
” 


CONCLUSION, igs 


head in her lap, mute with sorrow, with 


screaming and bewailing. 


“In the deep water,” 


said she to herself, 
“he is as far down as the glaciers! ” 

She remembered what Rudy had related 
to her of his mother’s death, of his preser- 
vation, and how he was withdrawn death- 
like, from the clefts of the glacier. ‘ The 
Tce-Maiden has him again!” 

There was a flash of lightning, as dazzling 
as the sunlight on the white snow. Babette 
started up; at this instant, the sea rose like 
a glittering glacier; there stood the Ice- 
Maiden majestic, pale, blue, shining, and at 
her feet lay Rudy’s corpse. “Mine!” said 
she, and then all around was fog and night 
and streaming water. 

“ Cruel!’ moaned Babette, “‘why must 
he die, now that the day of our happiness 
approached. God! Henao my under- 





134 CONCLUSION, 


standing! Enlighten my heart! I do not 
understand thy ways! Notwithstanding all 
thy omnipotence and wisdom, I still grope 
in the darkness.” 

God enlightened her heart. A thought 
like a ray of mercy, her last night’s dream 
in all its vividness flashed through her; she 
remembered the words which she had 
spoken: “the wish for the best for herself 
and Rudy.” 1 

“Woeis me! Was that the sinful seed 
in my heart? Did my dream foretell my 
future life? Is all this misery for my sal- 
vation? Me, miserable one!” 

Lamenting, sat she in the dark night. 
In the solemn stillness, sounded Rudy’s last 
words; the last ones he had uttered: “ Earth 
has no more happiness to give me!” She 
had heard it in the fullness of her joy, she 
heard it again in all the depths of her sorrow. 








CONCLUSION, ~ 135 


* * * % % % * 


A couple of years have passed since then. 
The lake smiles, the coast smiles; the vine 
branches are filled with ripe grapes; the 
steamboats glide along with waving flags 
and the pleasure boats float over the watery 
mirror, with their two expanded sails like 
white butterflies. The railroad to Chillon 
is opened ; it leads into the Rhone valley ; 
strangers alight at every station; they 
arrive with their red covered guide books 
and read of remarkable sights which are to 
be seen. They visit Chillon, they stand 
upon the little island, with its three acacias— 
out on the lake—and they read in the book - 
about the betrothed ones, who sailed over 
one evening in the year 1856;—of the death 
of the bridegroom, and: “it was not till the 
next morning, that the despairing shrieks 


of the bride were heard on the coast !”’ 


136 CONCLUSION. 


_ The book does not tell, however, of 
Babette’s quiet life with her father; not in 
the mill, where strangers now dwell, but in 
the beautiful house, near the railway station. 
There she looks from the window many an 
evening and gazes over the chestnut trees, 
upon the snow mountains, where Rudy 
once climbed. She sees in the evening 
hours the alpine glow—+the children of the 
Sun encamp themselves above, and repeat 
the song of the wanderer, whose mantle the _ 
whirlwind tore off, and carried away at 
took the covering but not the man.” 

There is a rosy hue on the snow of the 
- mountains; there is a rosy hue in every 
heart, where the thought dwells, that: 

“God always gives us that which is best for 
us!” but it is not always revealed to us, as 
it once happened to Babette in her dream. 








pe Butterfly 














THE BUTTERFLY. 139 


Guz butterfly wished to procure a bride 
for himself—of course, one of the flowers— 
a pretty little one. He looked about him. 
Hach one sat quietly and thoughtfully on 
her stalk, as a young maiden shouid sit, 
when she is not affianced; but there were 
many of them, and it was a difficult matter 
to choose amongst them. The butterfly 
could not make up his mind; so he flew to 
the daisy. The French call her Marguerite ; 
they know that she can tell fortunes, and 
she does this when lovers pluck off leaf 
after leaf and ask hér at each one a question 
about the beloved one: “ How does he love 
me ?—With all his heart ?—With sorrow? 


140 THE BUTTERFLY, “ 
: é 








—Above all?—Can not refrain from it? 
—Quite secretly 7?—A little bit ?—Not at 
all?”,—or questions to the same import. 
Each one asks in his, own language. The 
butterfly flew towards her and questioned 
her; he did not pluck off the leaves, but 
kissed each separate one, thinking that by 
so doing, he would make himself more 
agreeable to the good creature. 


7 


“Sweet Margaret Daisy,” said he, “ of 
all the flowers you are the wisest woman ! 
You can prophesy! Tell me, shall I obtain 
this one or that one? Which one? If I 
but know this, I can fly to the charming 
one at once, and pay my court!” 

Margaret did not answer. She could not 
bear to be called a woman, for she was a 
young girl, and when one is a young girl, 
one is not a woman. 


He asked again, he asked a third time, 


al 
— 
‘ 
c 


THE BUTTERFLY. 14! 


but'as she did not answer a single word, he 
questioned her no more and flew away with. 
ont further parley, intent on his courtship. 
It was early spring time, and there was 
an abundance of snow-drops and crocuses. 
“They are very neat,” said the butterfly, 
“pretty little confirmed ones, but a little 


{”? 


green He, like all young men looked 
at older girls. 

From thence he flew to the anemones; 
but he found them a little too sentimental ; 
the tulips, too showy; the broom, not of a 
good family; the linden blossoms, too 
small—then they had so many relations; as 
to the apple blossoms, why to look at them 


you would think them as healthy as 
roses, but to-day they blossom and to-mor- 


row, if the wind blows, they drop off; a 


marriage with them would be too short. 


The pea blossom pleased him most, she was 


142 THE BUTTERFLY. 





pink and white, she was pure and refined 
and belonged to the housewifely girls that 
look well, and still can make themselves 
useful in the kitchen.» He had almost con- 
cluded to make love to her, when he saw 
hanging near to her, a pea-pod with its white 
blossom. “Who is that?” asked he. ‘ That 
is my sister,” said the pea blossom. 

“Tlow now, is that the way you look 
when older?” This terrified the butterfly 
and he flew away. 

The honeysuckles were hanging over the 
fence—young ladies with long faces and 
yellow skins—but he did not fancy their 
style of beauty. Yes, but which did he 
hike? Ask him! 

The spring passed, the summer passed, 
and then came the autumn. The flowers 
appeared in their most beautiful dresses, but 
of what avail was this? The butterfly’s 


* 


THE BUTTERFLY. 343 


fresh youthful feelings had vanished. In 
old age, the heart longs for fragrance, and 
dahlias and gillyflowers are scentless. So 
the butterfly flew to the mint. “She has no 
flower at all, but she is herself a flower, for 
she is fragrant from head to foot and each 
leaf is filled with perfume. I shall take her!” 
But the mint stood stiff and still, and at 
last said: ‘ Friendship—but nothing more! 
J am old and you are old! We can live 
very well for one another, but to marry? 
No! Do not let us make fools of ourselves 
in our old age.” 
So the butterfly obtained no one. 
The butterfly remained a bachelor. 
Many violent and transient showers came 
| late in the autumn; the wind blew so coldly 
down the back of the old willow trees, 
that it cracked within them. It did not do 
to fly about in summer garments, for even 





Se Se ee 





144 THE BUTTERFLY. 


love itself would then grow cold. The 
butterfly however prefered not to fly out at 
all; he had by chance entered a door-way, 
and there was fire in the stove—yes, it was 
just as warm there, as in summer-time ; — 
there he could live. “Life is not enough,” 
said he, “‘one must have sunshine, liberty 
and a little flower!” 

He flew against the window:panes, was 
seen, was run through by a pin and placed 
in a curiosity-box ; one could not do more 
for him. 

“Now I also am seated on a stalk like a 
flower,” said the butterfly, “it is not so 
comfortable after all! But it is as well as 
being married, for then one is tied down!” 
He consoled himseif with this. 

“What a wretched consolation!” said the 
flower, that grew in the pot in the room. 

“One can not entirely trust to flowers 











~ 


THE BUTTERFLY. I 45 


that grow in pots,” thought the butterfly, 
“they have too much intercourse with 


men.” 











THE PSYCHE. 149 


TA tance star beams in the dawn of 
morning in the red sky—the clearest star 
of the morning—its rays tremble upon the 
white wall, as if they wished to write down 
and relate, the scenes which they had wit- 
nessed during many centuries. 

Listen to one of these stories ! 

A short time ago—( this not long ago is 
with us men—centuries)—my rays followed 
a young artist; it was in the realm of the 
Pope, in the city of the world, in Rome. 
Many changes have been made, but the 
imperial palace, was, as it is to-day, a ruin; 
between the overthrown marble columns and 
over the ruined bath-rooms, whose walls 


150 THE PSYCHE. 


were still decorated with gold, grew fig and 
laurel trees. The Colosseum was a ruin; 
‘the church bells rang, the incense arose and 
processions passed through the streets with 
tapers and gorgeous canopies. ‘The Church 
was holy, and art was lofty and holy also. 
In Rome dwelt Raphael, the greatest pain- 
ter of the world, here also dwelt Michael 
Angelo, the greatest sculptor of the age; 
even the Pope did homage to them both, 
and honoured them with his visits. Art 
was recognized, honoured and rewarded. 
All greatness and excellence is not seen and 
recognized, 

In a little narrow street, stood an old 
house, which had once been a temple; here 
dwelt a young artist; he was poor, he was 
unknown ; it is true that he had young 
friends, artists also, young in feelings, in 
hopes, and in thoughts. They told him, 














THE PSYCHE. 151 


that he was rich in talents and excellence. 
but that hs needed confidence in himself. 
He was never satisfied with his work and 
either destroyed all that he modeled or left 
it unfinished ; this is not the proper course 
to adopt, if one would be known, apprecia- 
ted and live. | 

“You are a dreamer,” said they, “this is 
your misfortune! You have not yet lived, 
you have not inhaled life in large healthy 
draughts, you have not yet enjoyed it. One 
should do this in youth and become a man! 
Look at the great master Raphael whom the 
Pope honours and the world admires,—he 
takes wine and bread with him.” 

“He dines with the baker’s wife, the 
pretty Fornarina!” said Angelo, one of 
the merry young friends. 

Yes, they all appealed to his good sense 


and to his youth. 
13* 


152 THE PSYCHE. 


They Wished to have the young artist 
join them in their merry-makings, in their 
extravagances and in their mad tricks; he 
would do so for a short time, for his blood 
was warm, his imagination strong; he could 
take his part in their merry conversation, 
and laugh as loudly as the others; and yet 
“the merry life of Raphael,” as they named 
it, vanished from him lke the morning 
mist, when he saw the godlike lustre which 
shone forth from the paintings of the great 
masters, or when he stood in the Vatican 
and beheld the forms of beauty, which the 
old sculptors had fashioned from blocks of 
marble, centuries ago. His breast swelled, 
he felt something so lofty, so holy, so 
elevated within him, yes, something so 
great and good, that he longed to create 
and chisel like forms from marble blocks, 


He desired to give expression to the feel- 






THE PSYCHE. 153 


ings which agitated his heart; but how 
and in what shape? The soft clay allowed, 
itself to be modeled into beautiful figures 
by his fingers, but on the following 
day, dissatisfied, he destroyed all he had 
created. 

One day he passed by one of the rich 
palaces, of which Rome has so many; he 
stood a moment at the large open en- 
trance, and gazed into a little garden, full 
of the most beautiful roses, which was 
surrounded by archways, decorated with 
paintings. Large, white callas, with their 
ereen leaves, sprouted forth from marble 
shells, into which splashed clear water; a 
- form glided by, a young girl, the daughter 
of this princely house, so elegant, so light, 
so charming! He had never seen so lovely 
a woman. Hold! yes, once, one made by 


Raphael, a painting of Psyche, in one of 





1S} THE PSYCHE. 


the palaces of Rome. There she was but 
painted, here she breathed and moved. 

~ She lived in his thoughts and in his 
heart; he went home to his poor lodgings 
and formed a Psyche out of clay ; it was 
the rich, young Roman gpirl, the princely 
woman, and he gazed at his work with satis- 
faction, for the first time. This hada signifi- 
cation—it was She. When his friends’ 
looked upon it, they exclaimed with joy, — 
that this work was a revelation of his artis- 
tic greatness, which they had always recog- 
nized, but which now should be recognized 
by the whole world. 

Clay is natural, flesh like, but it has not 
the whiteness, the durability of marble; the 
Psyche must obtain life from the block of 
marble—and he had the most precious piece 
of marble. It had been the property of his 
parents, and had been lying many years 


— 


THE PSYCHE. 155 


in the court yard; bits of broken bottles, 


' remains of artichokes were heaped over it 


and it was soiled, but its interior was white 
as the mountain snow; the Psyche should 
rise forth from it. 

One day, it so happened—it is true, that 
the clear stars do not relate it, for they did 
not see it, but we know it—that a distin- | 


_ guished Roman party, came to view the 


young artist's work, of which they had 
casually heard. Who were the distin- 
guished visitors? Poor young man! All 
too happy young man, one may call him also. 
Here in his room stood the young girl her- 
self—with what a smile—when her father 
said: “ You are that, living!” One cannot 
picture the look, one cannot render the look, 
the strange look with which she glanced at 

e young artist; it was a look which ele- 
vated, ennobled and—-destroyed. 


a 


156 THE PSYCHE. 


“The Psyche must be executed in mar- 
ble!” said the rich man. This was a 
word of life, for the dead clay and for the 
heavy block of marble; it was also a word 
of life for the young man who was over- 
come by emotion. “I will buy it, as soon 
as the work is completed!” said the princely 
man. 

It seemed as though a new era had dawned 
in the poor work-room ; occupation, life and 
gayety, lighted it up. The beaming morn- 
ing star saw how the work progressed. 
Even the clay had been endowed with a 
soul, since she had been there, and he bent 
entranced over the well known features. 

‘Now I know what life is,” he exclaimed 
with delight, ‘it is love! it is the elevation 
of the heart to the divine, it is rapture for 
the beautiful! What my friends call life 
‘and enjoyment, is perishable, like bubbles 





— 9 Oe ein ee 


THE PSYCHE. 157 


in the fermenting lees, not the pure, hea- 
venly wine of the altar, the consecration of 
life!” 

The marble block was erected, the chisel 
hewed away large pieces; the labourer’s 
part was done, marks and points placed, 
until little by little, the stone became a 
body, a shape of beauty—the Psyche—as 

—___charming as was the woman made by God. 
The massive stone became a soaring, dan- 
cing, airy, light and graceful Psyche, with 
a heavenly, innocent smile, the smile that 
had been mirrored in the young sculptor’s 
heart. , 

The star, in the rosy-tinted morning saw, 
and partly understood what was agitating 
the mind of the young man; it understood 
as well, the varying colour of his cheeks 
and the glance of his eye, whilst he created, 
as though inspired pifot 





158 THE PSYCHE. ~ 


“You are a master like those in the days 
of the Greeks,” said his enchanted friends, 
‘the world will soon admire your Psyche!” 

“My Psyche,” he repeated, “ mine; yes, 
that she must be! I am also an artist like 
the great departed ones! God has granted 
gifts of mercy to me, and has elevated me 
to the highly born!” ~ 

lle sank, weeping, on his knees and 
offered up his thanks to God—but forgot 
him again for her, for her portrait in mar- 
ble, for the Psyche form, that stood before 
him, as though cut out of snow, blushing, 
in the morning sun. 

He should see her, the living, floating 
one, in reality ; she, whose words sounded 
like music. He would himself carry the 
tidings, that the marble Psyche was com- 
pleted, to the rich palace. He arrived, 
passed through the open court-yard, where 


THE: PSYCHE. 159 


the water splashed from dolphin’s mouths 
into marble shells, where callas bloomed 
and fresh roses blossomed. He stepped 
into the large, lofty hall, whose walls 
and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant 
colours, with paintings and armorial bear- 
ings. Well dressed and haughty servants, 
holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses 
with their bells,) were pacing up and down; 
some of them had even stretched themselves 
out comfortably and insolently on the 
carved wooden benches; they appeared to 
be the masters of the house. Henamed his 
business, and was conducted up the marble 
steps, which were covered with soft carpets, 
On each side stood statues. Then he came 
to richly decorated apartments, hung with 
paintings and with mosaic floors. 
This pomp, this splendour made him 
breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt 


a 








i690 THE PSYCHE. 


reassured ; for the old prince, received him 
kindly, almost cordially. After they had 
spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged 
him to visit the young Signora, for she also 
wished to see him. The servants led him 
through magnificent chambers and corri- 
dors to her apartments, of which she was 
the glory and splendour. 

She spoke with him! No Miserere, no 
church song could have melted the heart 
more, or have more elevated the soul, than 
did the music of her voice. He seized her 
hand and pressed it to his lips—no rose is so 
soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose—a 
fire streams through him and his breast 
heaves; words flowed from his lips, but 
he knew not what he said. Does the crater 
know that it throws forth burning lava? 
He told her his love. She stood there, 


surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; 








THE PSYCHE. 161 


with an expression on her face as though a 
damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched 
her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew 
pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black 
as the darkness of night. 

“Frantic creature! Away, away!” said 
she, as she turned her back upon him. Her 
_ face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like 
“unto the Medusa’s head with its serpent 
locks. He descended to the street, a weak, 
lifeless thing; he entered his room like a 
night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, 
he seized his hammer, brandished it high in 
the air and sought to destroy the beautiful 
marble form. He did not observe—so ex- 
cited was he—that Angelo, his friend, stood 
near him, and arrested his arm with a firm 
grasp. 

“Have you become mad? What would 


youdo?” ‘They struggled with each other. 
14* 


162 THE PSYCHE. 





Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep 
drawn breath, he threw the young artist on 
a chair. 

aes “What has occurred?” asked Angelo, 
“ Collect yourself! Speak |” 

What could he say? What could he 
tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread 
of his discourse, he let it drop. 

“ Your blood grows thick with this eter- 
nal dreaming! Be human, like others and 
live not in the clouds! Drink, until you 
become slightly intoxicated, then you will 
sleep well! The young girl from the Cam- 
pagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the 
marble palace, they are both daughters of 
Eve, and can not be distinguished one from 
the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! 
Iam your good angel, the angel of your 
life! A time will come when you are old, 
when the body will dwindle and some beau- 


. 
a _ 





THE PSYCHE. 163 


tifal sunshiny day, when everything laughs 
and rejoices, you will le like a withered 
straw! I do not believe what the priests 
say, that there is a life beyond the grave! 
It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, 
delightful to think upon. I do not live in 
imagination, but in reality! Come with 
me! Become a man!” 

He drew him away, he could do this 
now, for there was a fire in the young 
artist's blood, a change in his soul; an 
ardent desire to tear himself away from all 
his wonted ways, from all accustomed 
thoughts ; to forget his old self—and to-day 
he followed Angelo. 

In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was 
much frequented by artists; it was built in 
the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst 
the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow 


lemons which covered a portion of the old 


164 THE PSYCHE. 


reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a 
deep vault, almost like a hollow in the 
ruins;’ within, a lamp burned before the 
image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed 
on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked 
and prepared the dishes for the guests. 
Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, 


stood tables ready set. 


They were received merrily and rejoic- 
ingly by their friends; they ate little and 
drank much and became gay; they sang, 
and played on the guitar; the Saltarello 
sounded and the dance began. ‘Two 
Roman girls, models of the young artists, 
joined in the dance and merriment; two pret- 
ty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, 
they were not delicate beautiful roses, but 
fresh, healthy flaming pinks. 

How warm it was on this day, even warm 


at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the 








THE PSYCHE. 165 





air, fire in every glance. The air swam in 
gold and roses, life was gold and roses. 

“ Now you have at last joined us! Allow 
yourself to be carried away by the cur- 


rent within and without you!” 


‘“T never felt so well and joyous before !” 
said the young artist. You are right, you 
are allof you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; 
man belongs to reality and not to fancy!” 
The young man left the osteria, in the 
clear starry evening, with song and tink- 
ling guitars, and passed through the narrow 
streets. The daughters of the Campagna, 
the two flaming pinks, were in their train. 
In Angelo’s room, the voices sounded 
more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst 
the scattered sketches, the outlines, the 
glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst 
the drawings on the floor there was many a 


sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the 


_ 
’ a 
i 


166 THE PSYCHE. 


daughters of the Campagna, yet they them- 
selves were much more beautiful. The six- 
armed lamp glowed brightly, and the 
human forms warmed and shone like gods. 

“Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to 
your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, 
that the flower of my life has unfolded 
within my heart!” Yes, it did unfold—it 
withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, 
loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, 
benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his 
sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. 
He went home, sat down on his bed, and 
thought. ‘ Fie!” sounded from his lips, 
from the bottom of his heart. “ Miserable 
wretch! away! away!’—and he sighed 
sorrowfully. 


!” These, her words, 


“Away! Away 
the words of the living Psyche, weighed 


upon him, and flowed from his lips. He 


ae 


THE PSYCHE. 167 


bowed his head upon the pillows, his 
thoughts became confused and he slept. 

At the dawn of day he started up.— 
What was this? Was it a dream? were 
her words, the visit to the osteria, the eve- 
ning with the purple red pinks of the 
Campagna but a dream?—No, all was 
reality; he had not known this before. 

The clear star beamed in the purple- 
tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon 
the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he 
contemplated the image of immortality, his 
glance even appeared impure to him. He 
threw a covering over it, he touched it 
once more in order to veil its form, but he 
could not view his work. 

Still, sombre, buried in his own medita 
tions, he sat there the whole day; he took 
no heed of what passed around him, no one 
knew what was agitating this human heart 


———_—_ 


168 THE PSYCHE. 


Days passed by, weeks passed by; the 
nights were the longest. One morning, the 
twinkling star saw him rise from his 
couch—pale—trembling with fever; he 
walked to the marble statue, lifted the 
cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrow- 
ful, deep, long look, and then almost sink- 
ing under the weight, he drew the statue 
into the garden. ‘There was a sunken, 
dried-up well, within it, into which he 
lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon: it 
and covered the fresh grave with small 
sticks and nettles. 

“ Away! Away,” was the short funereal 
service. 

The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw 
this, and two heavy tears trembled on the 
deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one— 
sick unto death, as they called him. 

The lay brother Ignatius came to him 





—— 


THE PSYCHE. 169 


as a friend and asa physician. He came, 
and with the consoling words of religion, 
he spoke of the peace and happiness of the 
church, of the sins of man, of ne mercy 
and glory of God. 

The words fell ike warm sun beams on 
the moist, fermenting ground; they dis- 
persed and cleared away the misty clouds, 
from the troubled thoughts which had held 
possession of him; he gazed upon his past 
life; everything had been a failure, a’ 
deception—yes, had been. Art was an 
enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, 
into earthly pleasures. We become false 
to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our. 
God. The serpent speaks ever in us: “Taste 
and thou shalt become like unto God.” 

Now, for the first time, he appeared 
to understand himself, to have discovered 


the road to truth, to peace. 





170 THE PSYCHE. 





In the church was God’s light and bright- 
ness, in the monk’s cell was found that 
peace, which enables man to obtain eternal 
bliss. | 

Brother Ignatius supported him in these 
thoughts, and the decision was firmly made 
—a worldling became a servant of the 
church ;—the young artist took leave of 
the world, and entered the cloister. 

How joyfully, how cordially the brothers 
greeted him! How festive the ordonation ! 
It seemed to him that God was in the sun- 
shine of the church, and beamed within it, 
from the holy pictures and from the shining 
cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in 
his little cell, and opened his window and 
gazed in the spring-time over old Rome— 
with her broken temples, her massive, but 
dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her 


flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, 


tae 





*, 
THE PSYCHE, 171 


her shining lemons and oranges, her palm 
trees fanned by the breeze—and felt touched 
and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna 
extended to the blue snow-topped moun- 
tains, which appeared to be painted on the 
air. Hverything breathed beauty and peace. 
The whole—a.dream |, 

Yes, the world-here was a dream, and 
the dream ruled the hours and returned to 
hours again. But the life of a cloister is a 
life of many, many long years. 

Man is naturally impure and he felt this! 
What flames were these, that at times 
glowed through him? Was it the power 
of the Evil One, that caused these wild 
thoughts to rage constantly within him? 
He punished his body, but without effect. 
What portion of his mind was that, which 
wound itself around him, pliable as a ser- 
pent, and which crept about his conscience 


—_— 


= 


12 THE PSYCHE. 


‘ 


under a loving cloak and consoled him! 
The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin 
prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood 
for us! 

Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity 
of youth, that had induced him to give 
himself up to grace, and which made him 
_ feel elevated above so many? For had he 
not cast away the vanity of the world, was 
he not a son of the church ? 

One day, after many years, he met 
Angelo, who recognized him. 

‘‘ Man,” said he, ‘yes, it is you! Are 
you happy now? You have sinned against 
God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from 
you; you have gambled away your voca- 
tion for this world. Read the parable of 
the entrusted pledge. The Master who 
related it, spoke but truth! What have 
you won and found after all? Do not 





THE PSYCHE. 173 


make a dream life for yourself: Make a 
religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose 
all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful 
thought !” 

“ Get thee from behind me, Satan!” said 
the monk, and forsook Angelo. 

“Tt is a devil, a devil personified! I saw 
him to-day,” murmured the monk, “TI 
reached him but a finger, and he took my 
whole hand! No,” sighed he, “the wicked- 
ness is in myself; it is also in this man, but 
he is not tormented by it; he walks with 
elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but 
clutch at the consolation of the church for 
my welfare! But if this is only consola- 
tion! If all here consists of beautiful 
thoughts and but resemble those which 
beguiled me in the world? Is it but a 
deception like unto the beauty of the red 
evening clouds and like unto the blue wave- 


174 THE PSYCHE. 


like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen — 
near, how changed! KEternity, art thou 
like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, 
which beckens to us, calls us, fills us with 
presentiments, and if we venture. upon it, 
we sink, we vanish—die—cease to be ?— 

Deceit! away! away !” 

He sat tearless on his hard couch, deso- 
late, kneeling—before whom? Before the 
stone cross which was placed in the wall? 
No, habit alone caused his body to bend. 

The deeper he read within himself, the 
darker all appeared to him. “ Nothing 
within, nothing without! Life thrown 
away!” This thought, crushed him—an- 
nihilated him. 

“T dare confide to none the doubts 
which consume me! My prisoner is my 
secret and if it escape I am lost!” 

The power of God, wrestled within him. 


THE PSYCHE. 175 


“Tord! Lord!” he exclaimed in his 
despair, “be merciful, give me faith! I 
cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my 
vocation for this world! I prayed for 
strength and thou hast not given it to me. 
Immortality! The Psyche in my breast— 
away! away !—Must it be buried like yon 
Psyche, the light of.my life? Never to 
arise from the grave!”’ 

‘The star beamed in the rosy red atmos- 
phere, the star which will be lost and will 
vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. 
Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, 
but it spoke not of the glory of God, of 
the erace, the eternal love which beams in 
the breast of every believer. 

“Can the Psyche never die?—Can one 
live with consciousness ?—Can the impossi- 
ble take place?—Yes! Yes! My being is 
inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh 


176 THE PSYCHE. 


ee 
Lord! A wonder of might, glory and 
love!” 

His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The 
peal of the church bells passed over the 
dead one. He was laid in holy ground and 
his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. 

Years afterwards, his bones were ex- 
humed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, 
as had stood those of the dead monks before 
him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, 
a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the 
sun shone without, incense perfumed within, 
and mass was read.— 

Years rolled by. 

The bones and legs fell asunder. They 
stood up the skulls, and with them, formed 
the whole outside wall of a church. There 
he stood in the burning sunshine; there 
were so many, many dead, they did not 
know their names, much less his. 


THE PSYCHE. 17% 


See, something living moved in the sun- 
shine in the two eye sockets; what was 
that? <A brilliant lizard wasrunning about 
in the hollow skull, sipping in and out of 
the large, empty sockets. This was now 
the life in the head, where once elevated 
thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and 
the magnificent had been rife; from which 
hot tears had rolled and where the hope of 
immortality had lived. The lizard leaped 
out and disappeared; the skull crumbled 
away and became dust to dust.— 

Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, 
clear and large, bearned on as it had done 
for centuries. The atmosphere shone with 
a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as 
blood. 

Where there had once been a little street 
with the remains of an old temple, now 
stood a convent; a grave was dug in the 


178 THE PSYCHE. 


garden, for a young nun had died, and she 
was to be lowered in the earth at this early 
hour of the morning. The spade struck 
against a stone which appeared of a dazzling 
whiteness—the white marble came forth—it 
rounded into a shoulder;—they used the 
spade with care, and a female head became 
visible—butterfly wings. They raised from 
the grave, in which the young nun was 
to be laid on this rosy morning, a glorious- 
ly beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from 
white marble. 

“ How magnificent! How perfect a 
master work!” they said. ‘ Who can the 
artist be?” He was unknown. None 
knew him, save the clear star, which had 
been beaming for centuries; it knew the 
course of his earthly life, his trials, his 
failings ; it knew that he was: “but aman!” 
But he was dead, dispersed as dust must 


\ 
/ 


\ 
ta 


—_= 


THE PSYCHE. 179 


and shall be; but the result of his best 
‘efforts, the glory which pointed out the 
divine within him, the Psyche, which never 
dies, which surpasses in brightness, all 
earthly renown, this remained, was seen, 
acknowledged, admired and beloved. 

The clear morning star in the rosy tinted 
sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the 
Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness 
about the mouth and eyes of the admiring 
ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the 
marble block. 

That which is earthly passes away, and 
is forgotten; only the star in the infinite 
knows of it. That which is heavenly sur- 
passes renown; for renown, fame and 
earthly glory die away, but—the Psyche 
lives forever ! 








nail and the Hose Cree 








THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 183 


on HEDGE of hazel-nut bushes encircled 
the garden; without was field and meadow, 
with cows and sheep - but in the centre of 
the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it 
sat a snail—she had much within her, she 
had herself. 

“ Wait, until my time comes,” said she, 
“T shall accomplish something more than 
putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving 
milk, like the cows and sheep! ” 

“T expect something fearfully grand,” 
said the rose-tree, “may I ask when it will 
take place ?” 

“JT shall take my time,” said the snail, 
“you are in too great a hurry, and when 


ee 


184 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 


this is the case, how can one’s expectations 
be fulfilled ?” 

The next year the snail lay in about the 
same spot under the rose-tree, which put 
forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, 
ever new. The snail half crept forth, 
stretched out its feelers and drew itself in 


again. 


“ Everything looks as it did a year ago! 


No progress has been made; the rose-tree 
still bears roses; it does not get along any 
farther !” i 

The summer faded away, the autumn 
passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers 
and buds, until the snow fell, and the 
weather was raw and damp. ‘The rose-tree 
bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept 
in vhe earth. 

A new year commenced; the roses came 
out, and the snail came out. 


THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 185 





“Now you are an old rose bush,’’ said 
the snail, “ you will soon die away. You 
have given the world everything that you 
had in you; whether that be much or little 
is a question, upon which I have not time 
to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you 
have not done the slightest thing towards 
your inward developement; otherwise I 
suppose that something different would 
have sprung from you. Can you answer 
this? You will soon be nothing but 
a stick! Can you understand what I 
say ?” 

“You startle me,” said the rose-tree, “ I 
have never thought upon that!” 

“No, I suppose that you have never 
meddled much with thinking! Can you 
tell me why you blossom? And how it 
comes to pass? How? Why ?” 

“No,” said the rose-tree, “I blossom 


186 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 





with pleasure because I could not do other- 
wise. The sun was so warm, the air so 
refreshing, I drank the cleardew and the 
fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! <A 
strength came to me from the earth, a 
strength came from above, I felt a happi- 
ness, ever new, ever great and therefore I 
must blossom ever, that was my life, I could 
not do otherwise !” 

“You have led a very easy life!” said 
the snail. 

“Certainly, everything has been given 
to me,” said'the rose-tree, “‘ but still more 
has been given to you. You are one of 
those meditative, pensive, profound na- 
tures, one of the highly gifted, that asta 
the whole world!” 

“T have assuredly no such thought in 
my mind,” said the snail, “the world is 
nothing tome! What have I to do with 


_ THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 187 


the world? I have enough with myself, 
and enough in myself!” 

“But should we not*all, here on earth, 
give the best part of us to others? Offer 
what we can!—lIt is true, that I have only 
given roses—but you? You who have re- 
ceived so much, what have you given 
to the world? What do you give 
here” | 

“What I have given? WhatI give? I 
spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I 
have nought to do with her. Put forth 
roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel 
bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep 
give milk; they-have each their public, I 
have mine within myself! I retire within 
myself, and there I remain. The world is 
nothing to me!” 

And thereupon the snail withdrew into 


her house and closed it. 


* 


188 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 


“That is so sad,” said the rose-tree, 
“with the best will, I cannot creep in, I 
must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. 
The leaves drop off and are blown away by 
the wind. ‘Yet, I saw one of the roses laid 
in the hymn-book of the mother of the 
family; one of my roses was placed upon 
the breast of a charming young girl, and 
one was kissed with joy by a child’s mouth. 
This did me so much good, it was a real 
blessing! That is my recollection, my 
lite |” 


And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, 


and the snail sat indifferently in her house. 
The world was nothing to her. 

And years passed away. The snail 
became earth to earth and the rose-tree 
became earth to earth; the remembrances 
in the hymn-book were also blown away— 


but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, 


cit 


THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 189 


new snails grew in the garden; they crept 
in their houses and spat—The world is 
nothing to them. 

Shall we read the story of the past again? 
It will not be different. 




















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